Infiltration
by Pugsrawesome12
Summary: When Cobol finds the team, everyone is forced to flee the country, and their only chance of safety is when an eccentric billionare offers them their most difficult job ever. Bad language warning. Read/review. Arthur/Ariadne
1. Prologue

"What is the most resilient parasite?" Cobb said with his eyes narrowed thoughtfully, gently lifting the silver fork a few inches above his white china plate with gilded edges. "A bacteria? A virus? An intestina-"

"W-what Mr. Charles is trying to say," Arthur cut in suddenly, swallowing the last bits of his food before throwing the extractor a wary glance, "Is that-"

"I've got this." Cobb interrupted the tense-looking Point Man suddenly, nodding a little. "Mr. Kaneda, the most resilient parasite in the world is an idea. An idea grows, it manifests into something complex and detailed. Something that a lot of people would pay a lot of money to get their hands on."

Across the large, polished mahogany table, a pudgy, middle-aged man with a rapidly receding hairline that was flecked with gray narrowed his beady brown eyes at Cobb and Arthur, then focused on the well done steak sitting on his plate. He pursed his unusually fleshy pink lips, and fidgeted with his smooth red tie.

"What exactly are you getting at, Mr. Charles?" The businessman asked, pushing the steak across his plate with his fork.

Cobb leaned back a little, the hard edge of the chair digging in between the vertebrae of his spine. "Well, you see, the mind is most vulnerable to being invaded during a dream. In a dream, someone can steal your ideas. Ideas that could benefit your company, or destroy your company if in the wrong hands. Stealing an idea is known as extraction."

Suddenly, the entire dining room began to shake a little, the glistening crystal chandelier above them swinging back and forth. As the multiple crystals of the chandelier trembled they produced a clear, high-pitched ring that echoed throughout the room. _What the Hell is going on up there? _He thought, staring up at the ceiling as the shaking suddenly came to a stop, then glanced at the rigid Point Man, who was just barely shaking his head _no _at him. Cobb's eyes traveled to the wine glass Arthur was holding, and he noticed the way he was tightly gripping it, so tightly that his knuckles began to protrude beneath his pale skin.

The strange occurrence had caused the two suit-clad security guards standing at the double-doors behind Mr. Kaneda exchanged glances from behind their darkly-tinted glasses.

"So how do I prevent this?" Mr. Kaneda asked, the dimpled flesh from his neck spilling over the crisp collar of his suit.

"Well, I can train you, so that even when you're asleep, your subconscious will be safe from any sort of invasion." He replied, propping his elbows up on the table as if he were deep in thought. "But in order to do this, I'm going to have to know everything about you, more than your therapist, your wife-"

"I don't have a wife." Mr. Kaneda said suddenly, his chair groaning a little as he leaned back in it, lacing his pudgy fingers together thoughtfully.

"But you get the point." Cobb raised an eyebrow questioningly, pausing to wait for any sort of reply from the businessman, which turned out to be a simple nod. "Usually, extractors steal ideas from subconscious hiding places, such as safes or vaults."

At his words, Mr. Kaneda glanced worriedly at a deeply-polished wood double-door to their left, the only way out of the softly-lit dining room besides the double-doors just north of them.

"And how do I know that I will be safe against the most skilled extractor?" The pudgy businessman asked, pressing his hands against the table and raising one eyebrow as he met Cobb's gaze.

Cobb had to do his best not to smirk at how well they were doing. It looked like his decision to run with Mr. Charles had been a good idea, despite what Arthur and the rest of the team had said.

"Because I am the most skilled extractor." He said bluntly, fidgeting with the cuffs at the ends of his sleeves.

Mr. Kaneda nodded slowly, pressing his thumb against his chin thoughtfully, then promptly stood up. "I'm sorry, but I will have to decline, Mr. Charles." He said, wiping his mouth with his immaculately white napkin. "I simply don't have enough proof that I can trust you. I have guests to attend to. My guards will escort you both out."

Cobb and Arthur stood up, watching the businessman stride through the double-doors arrogantly, with his round head held high and his meaty hands swinging at his sides. The two guards standing at the doors focused their intense gazes on them, then nodded towards them.

"This way, please." The one on the right said monotonously, slowly gesturing towards the doors.

Cobb glanced at Arthur worriedly, who replied with a simple nod. They began to walk quickly, passing the various paintings that were hung up on the walls. Some were unusually colorful and painted in long but simple streaks to form some sort of shape, usually a face. Others were painstakingly detailed portraits of people and places.

They started into a dimly lit hall, the two guards following closely behind them. The air felt tense and rigid, as if at any moment something was about to go wrong.

"It's in the other room." He whispered to Arthur, glancing back at the guards, who were still following them closely. "It's just like with Saito. He glanced towards those doors when I mentioned a safe."

For a moment, his gaze fell towards the impeccably spotless beige carpet forlornly, suddenly remembering the fact that his deal with Saito had failed. A few months after the successful Inception, something went wrong. He wasn't sure exactly what, but now because of it, he had to go back to France so that he didn't end up in prison. His reunion with his children had been painfully short-lived. Now he was back in the business of stealing and planting ideas.

"So what do we do about the guards?" Arthur asked quietly, his dark eyes quickly flashing towards the men behind them.

"Take them out." He replied, fidgeting with cuffs of his sleeves before suddenly lashing around and slamming his fist into the sallow face of the man behind him.

The man stumbled backwards, outstretching his arms to balance himself. In that instant, the other guard swung his fist at him, but Arthur quickly grabbed him and slammed him against the wall. A loud thud reverberated through the hall. He glanced around, checking for anyone else, when someone behind him suddenly grabbed him tightly by the arm, and twisted it behind his back. A tight pain shot through the muscles of his arm as he felt himself slowly being brought down to his knees by the guard. He gritted his teeth until he felt pressure building up inside his mouth.

All of a sudden, the guard suddenly let go. Cobb fell forwards, breaking his fall by pressing his hands against the rough surface of the carpet.

Ariadne paced back and forth nervously, lacing her fingers together and clasping her hands, whose skin was permeated with warm sweat. Her dark gaze flickered towards the floor-to-ceiling windows at her left, which gave her a view of the large, bustling city sprawled out thousands of feet below her. The team had purposely chosen a room on the top floor of the tallest building in the city she had created, so it would be harder for projections to reach them.

Her ribs seemed to tighten around her lungs, giving them little room to expand. An odd clenching feeling settled within her chest. She looked at Arthur, who was slouched over in a black leather chair at the end of a wide table made of a dark wood that had been so well polished it was almost as reflective as a mirror. The clenching feeling now spread to her stomach, which had already been unusually queasy.

_Hurry up. _She thought, pulling a wavy strand of brown hair behind her ear, which was slightly numb at the edges from the chilly air that accumulated the meeting room. Her bottom lip quivered rapidly as she breathed in and out. Did it really have to take that long? Words couldn't describe how much she hated staying behind to watch the team while they went under. The apprehension, the nervousness she felt from wondering what on Earth was going on down there made her sick. She knew Architects weren't actually supposed to go under, they were just supposed to create the dreamscape and teach it to the rest of the team, but frankly she loved actually participating in the heists.

Her index finger pressed against her lower lip slightly. She let her gaze travel from Arthur, to Cobb as he sat stooped over in a chair pressed against the wall, to Eames, who lay on the ground with his back against the glass window, and the portly Mr. Kaneda, who was asleep with his face pressed against the surface of the table. Next to each of them was a bucket of water so that she could give them the kick if she needed to. The gentle hiss of the PASIV was the only sound in the room.

Suddenly there was a thunderous bang on the wood double-doors behind her. Every muscle in her body tightened fearfully as she spun around, her eyes now locked on the doors, which were obviously being shaken by someone outside of the room. Her hands felt around her back pockets for a gun, when her stomach suddenly got that dropping feeling as she realized she didn't have a gun with her.

"Oh no." She gasped under her breath, rigid, icy goose-bumps rippling through her skin.

There was no way the projections could have reached them that quickly. By now they still had to be searching for them.

Another bang roared through the room, sending an electric jolt through her body that made her spine stiffen and her muscles clench. She stared at the doors, mind completely blank as to what to do. Her lungs felt heavy and swollen with each ragged breath she made. Her fingers twitched. The air felt tense.

Suddenly the doors swung open, slamming into the walls with a loud boom. In the doorway stood a girl, probably in her early to mid-twenties. Her silky-looking hair felt a few inches above

her elbows in a smooth, uninterrupted curtain of pure ebony. A chillingly detailed tattoo of a red dragon wound around her right arm, starting at her shoulder and ending at her elbow, baring a striking contrast to her deeply-tanned skin. A small black gun was clenched tightly in her hand, a finger pressed against the trigger.

"Who are you?" Ariadne let the words completely fall out of her mouth without considering the fact that this girl was carrying a gun.

The girl narrowed her eyeliner-rimmed brown eyes and pursed her pale pink lips. She was breathtakingly beautiful, so beautiful that even just looking at her made Ariadne feel like a thorny weed among a field of perfect roses. Her deep brown eyes were round and framed with long black eyelashes, her lips perfectly full, her nose small and sloped. Nothing about her looked dangerous, except the fact that she was holding a gun.

"That doesn't matter." The girl replied, raising the gun towards her.

Then the thunderous boom of a gun rocketed through the air, followed by a small bullet that headed right for Ariadne. At that moment everything seemed to slow down. She darted out of the way, feeling the icy metal of the bullet ever-so-gently graze against the tip of her ear, hearing the chilling hiss. The bullet passed by her, then slammed into one of the windows. A web of cracks began to form around where the bullet was lodged, then quickly manifested until the intricate, almost lacy-looking cracks dominated the entire windows, and then finally the entire window shattered.

The high-pitched shriek of glass breaking filled the air. It felt like someone was shoving needles into her ears it was so loud. Shattered pieces of glass with dangerously jagged edges rained down, some falling out of the building, others hitting the floor.

She pressed her arms over her head for protection, crouching down in fear. Every inch of her body was trembling. Her muscles, her bones, her veins. All of it was trembling. Slowly, she looked up at the girl, who had made her way to the PASIV, which was placed on the middle of the table, and preparing to shove one of the needles into her wrist.

"What are you doing?" She yelled, instinctively diving across the table and slamming into the girl right before the needle penetrated her skin.

They both collided into the wall with a thud. Ariadne shook her head sleepily, and blinked a few times, before the girl suddenly threw her off and stood up. The rough carpet rubbed against her bare skin painfully. She clenched her eyes shut, pressing herself to her knees.

But the moment she opened her eyes, she felt a hand clasp around a huge chunk of her hair and jerk her to her feet. A blunt stabbing pain shot through her scalp. It was like her skin was being ripped off.

The girl slammed her against the wall, the back of her skull hitting the hard surface. An unbelievable, inexplicable pain erupted inside her head. It was like a tingle, but with a burning sensation mixed with it, permeating her skull. Her head felt hollow and light, like a balloon floating in the air. It almost felt like it was detached from the rest of her body.

She blinked lazily, her head still lolling a little. Without even thinking, she kneed the girl in the stomach, causing her to yell out in pain and let go of her. The skin of her skull still stung from her hair being pulled like that. Her heart was pounding desperately within her chest, the violent quakes echoing throughout her body. She watched as the girl curled over in pain with her arms wrapped around her stomach, wobbling dizzily.

What was she? A projection? But it didn't make any sense why she would try to put herself under. No, she had to have known they were there, she had to have had a plan. Maybe she had been sent to infiltrate the dream.

Suddenly, the girl grabbed her by the shoulders, digging her slightly sharp fingernails into her skin. Ariadne's eyes widened in shock, her mind completely blank as to what to do. The girl pursed her lips in frustration, and threw her against the table.

The blunt edge of the table collided with her spine, pressing into her vertebrae. Salty water accumulated in her eyes as the pain spread throughout the rest of her back. But before she could even realize how much pain she was actually in, the ferocious girl had already clasped her hands around her wrist and swung her so that she smashed against the wall once more. Her body ached with a tense, unbearable sensation that she couldn't explain.

She needed to fight back. She needed to at least do something.

Ariadne focused her watery gaze on the girl, then clenched her fist together so tight that she felt every muscle and vein in her knuckles being pulled, and swung at the girl. But the girl quickly deflected the punch by grabbing her fist. The Architect exhaled, and threw her to the ground.

"Why are you doing this?" She demanded, locking gazes with the girl.

Instead of replying, the girl just kicked her in the shin. Sharps stabs interrupted within the bones of her lower leg. She fell backwards, teeth clenched in pain. The black-haired girl loomed over her, then crouched down to grab her by the throat. But Ariadne felt a sudden surge of adrenaline shoot through her body, and rolled out of the way. She rolled all the way into the glistening pile of glass, which pressed into her skin. Instinct began to take over, and she grabbed a long, narrow shard, ignoring the pain she felt as it's sharp edges dug into her palm.

Pressing herself to her feet, she swung at the girl, who darted out of the way at the last minute, then grabbed a shard as well. The two then locked intense gazes with one another, each one waiting for the other to make a move. But neither did. Neither was sure what to do.

Then the girl grabbed Ariadne by the neck. Her breath became trapped in her lungs as she tightened her grip. Desperate to be released from the pain, she tried to pry the girl's fingers away from her neck, but sadly they wouldn't budge. The lack of oxygen began to make her lungs feel like they were swelling up dangerously, like a balloon being filled with air. As water gathered in her eyes, her vision began to become warped and liquified. She gasped desperately for air.

The girl's lips began to form a devious smirk. She walked towards the area where the window once was, and dangled Ariadne out in the air.

Her eyes widened, her heart sped up so quickly it felt like it was about to explode, and her lungs swelled even more. She was dangling in open air, thousands of feet over a busy city. There was no way she would survive that fall. Even though it was a dream, she was still scared to die. She would wake up, but that girl would still be there.

"K-k-killing me w-w-won't... D-d-do you any good." She rasped in between ragged chokes. "I'll... J-j-j-just w-wake up."

"I know." The girl replied, then let go.

Suddenly Ariadne was falling. She felt her stomach drop sickeningly. Instinctively, she grabbed onto the ledge, tiny shards of glass digging into her fingers. But it didn't matter, because now she had a grip.

"Here we go." Arthur said under his breath, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he found himself looking upon the dark grey safe lodged into the wall.

His hands were clasped around an intricate oil painting that had once hung on the wall, in front of the safe. The corrugated bronze surface of the painting's frame pressed deep against his skin.

"I'll open it." Cobb said, stepping towards the safe.

Arthur nodded, and took a few steps back. His gaze roamed around the somewhat dark study as his friend began to open the safe. To the left, he saw a large desk made of some sort of dark, highly-polished wood with elegant carvings, a chair made of smooth-looking black leather, and a bookcase full of books of various sizes and colors. To the right was a small sofa with a coffee table that had a globe on it.

A metallic creak made him look back at the safe. The small door was now swung open and Cobb was reaching inside to grab a brown envelope. In his other hand was another envelope that was going to replace the one in the safe.

"You now I really think you should stop mentioning intestinal worms." Arthur said to his friend, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Just a suggestion."

He glanced back, then did a double-take when he realized someone was standing in the doorway. "Ariadne?"

The brown-haired college student stood in the very center of the doorway, every inch of her body trembling violently as if she had just swam in the Arctic Ocean.

"Ariadne, what are you doing here?" Cobb asked, quickly shoving the envelope in his pocket.

Why would she put herself under? She knew she was supposed to stay on the first level of the dream and administer the kick. Something very bad had to have happened for her to need to leave them.

"Someone's infiltrated the dream." She replied quickly, hurrying towards them. "A girl broke into the room. She put herself under. I'm not sure where she is, but my guess is she's headed this way."

Arthur raised an eyebrow, and exchanging worried glances with Cobb. "Are you sure she wasn't just a projection?"

"Why would she put herself under if she were a projection?" Ariadne said, turning up her palms questioningly.

No one had ever infiltrated one of their dreams before. Unless they counted Mal, but she had just been a shade. The idea of someone being sent to purposely sabotage one of their jobs made him nervous. It meant that someone else knew about them. It meant that they weren't as well hidden as they thought. The entire time they thought they had been safe, yet there was someone else who knew enough about them to be able to infiltrate their job.

"What did she look like?" Cobb said under his breath, his dark eyes rapidly flickering from Ariadne to the doorway.

"Black air, brown eyes, dragon tattoo on her arm." The Architect recited in a breathless, gasping voice, running a pale hand through her hair. "She was about my age, maybe a bit older."

Arthur sighed, looking down at the floor before directing his gaze to Ariadne. "Okay. You need to get out of here so that you can give us the kick."

"We need to find Eames." Dom announced, pointing towards the doorway and strolling past both of them.

The Point Man watched his friend make his way out of the doorway and into the hall quickly, then focused on Ariadne, who was nervously clutching the brown fabric of her cardigan with one hand and tucking her hair behind her ear with the other.

"Ariadne, thank you for warning us, but don't you think it would have just been better if you just woke her up and then killed her?" He suggested in a low voice, leaning down a little so he had better eye contact with her.

Lately the Architect had been starting to worry him. She had become more and more interested in entering the dreams, even though the job of the Architect was just to create the dreamscapes. In a way, he understood that maybe she just really liked going under, but as innocent as it seemed, he couldn't help but fear that she was becoming addicted.

He remembered Cobb once saying to him that Ariadne reminded him slightly of Mal, in the way she was fascinated by the world of the dream. His words shook him a little bit, though, because he then realized how much she was becoming like Mal.

"I don't know. I hadn't really thought about it at the time."Ariadne replied, biting her lip. "Why do you even care?"

"I'm just saying." He spoke under his breath, keeping his gaze locked with hers. "Anyway, though, you need to get back to the first dream."

He pushed a small black gun into her pale hands, but she handed it back to him. "What?" He said.

Ariadne's eyes remained down-turned as she spoke. "Can you do it?"

Arthur sighed, and tightened his grip around the gun. His fingers slid across the icy surface a little as he fixed his index finger around the trigger. "Sure." He glanced away for a second, then angled the gun so that it was aiming for Ariadne's head. "Take a few steps back."

The Architect nodded, then obediently stepped back, her lips slightly parted and trembling.

Arthur narrowed his eyes, feeling his fingers twitch as he prepared to squeeze the trigger. _Just do it already. _He focused on the center of her forehead, then he closed his eyes.

There was a boom.

But it didn't come from his gun.

Arthur lowered the gun, half expecting Ariadne to collapse promptly to the ground at any minute. But she didn't. She just stood there, eyes wide with shock, her lips slightly parted, her entire body tense and rigid.

"What was that?"Ariadne said, quickly strolling up to his side.

He placed the gun back in the holster and quickly made his way out the door and into the hall. "I don't know. But you need to get back up to the first level."

"But I want to help." She argued, glaring up at him as they hurried towards where they had heard the sound of gunfire. "I'll wake up in time to administer the kick."

Arthur stopped at an area where the hall split, pressing his back against the wall and peeking around the side. "Here, shoot yourself." He said quietly, reaching for the gun, suddenly wondering why he had even bothered to put it in the holster in the first place when he knew he was going to need it.

"No!" She replied, tightly clenching her slender fingers around his wrist before he could remove the gun. "I want to stay and help you."

For a moment, they both stood there silently, glaring at each other. God, she could be so stubborn sometimes. At times it was a good thing, like when she convinced Cobb to let her assist them on the Fischer job, but right now it wasn't so good. They didn't have time for this.

"We don't have time for this, just shoot yourself in the head." He commanded with his teeth gritted, suddenly realizing how strange what he just said sounded.

"Let... Me... Help... You." She pushed the gun back as he tried to shove it into her hands.

"Fine." He rolled his eyes, then turned around to head down the hall. "Stay close to me."

They moved quickly through the maze-like hallway, searching for Cobb. It felt like at any moment someone was going to jump out from around the corner. Every time they neared a corner, Arthur could feel his pulse quicken and his fingers tense up as they hovered around the handle of his gun, only to find that no one was there. Having Ariadne tag along didn't make it any better.

They turned a corner, and both froze.

A feet few ahead of them lay Cobb's dead body, a bullet lodged into his forehead. His eyes were still open, which made the whole scene even more eerie. There was a girl crouched over him, rummaging through the pockets of his suit desperately. Long black hair hung in front of her face, blocking their view of it. Her right arm had an intricate dragon tattoo winding around it.

"That's her!" Ariadne exclaimed, grabbing him by the elbow and jerking him

In an instant the girl looked up, gasped, then immediately grabbed her gun and shot at them.

Arthur dove down, pulling Ariadne down with him. He slammed into the floor, his hands rubbing against the rough carpet, making them sting and burn painfully. The two bullets that the girl shot flew a few over their heads.

The girl grabbed a brown envelope that had been folded a few times and shoved into the pocket of Cobb jacket, tore her black high-heels off her feet, and ran down the hall.

Arthur quickly grabbed his gun from it's holster and began following after her, often glancing back to check on Ariadne. "Stay close to me." He ordered in a quick, breathless voice.

Suddenly, the hall led straight into a much larger room, a ballroom, in fact. Brilliant white light filled the room as it emanated from the gigantic crystal chandelier that was suspended from the curved ceiling. At the end of the room was a wide staircase made of brilliantly reflective marble. Projections dressed in dark suits and long, flowing dresses accumulated the ballroom.

The girl, who had been wearing a lacy bustier dress that somewhat resembled lingerie, had easily slipped into the crowd and vanished among the jumble of projections.

"Shit." Arthur cursed under his breath, running his clenched fingers through his jelled back hair. "God, she could be anywhere." Ariadne said, glancing a him as she gripped her elbows warily.

He turned towards her. "Ariadne, you need to get back to the first level and wake her up."

The architect rolled her eyes with a sigh, then shrugged in surrender. "Fine, whatever." She said, shaking her head and nervously clenching her hands together before looking up and meeting his gaze.

"Take this, I need to go after her." He said, pulling the gun out of it's holster and pushing it into her hands.

For a brief moment, her fingers gently brushed against his, and he glanced at her a little. Ariadne simply brushed her hair behind her ear and clasped both hands around the gun.

"Wait, if I have the gun, what are you going to use?" She asked, holding the gun under her red cardigan so that it was concealed.

He shrugged, glancing towards the crowd once more. "I'm not going to need it if you wake her up in time. Now go, before she gets out of here."

Ariadne nodded and headed back into the hall. _How the Hell could someone have infiltrated the dream? _He wondered as he quickly made his way towards the crowd, keeping his eye out for the dark-haired girl.

Suddenly, all of the projections stopped chatting quietly, and all their eyes turned towards him. He paused in his tracks. His chest began to tense up in nervousness as the projections continued to glare at him with their eyes narrowed suspiciously. Every step he made became a tiny, calculated shuffle across the glossy tile, which was a grainy shade of beige.

With the exception of an occasional blink, the projections were completely and utterly still as he shuffled by them.

Something was seriously wrong.

He could literally feel tremors reverberating through his body as his heart pounded steadily within his chest. One of the projections, a thin old man with a bushy gray moustache that covered his upper lip and a stiff black suit that was obviously a few sizes too big for him, purposely bumped into Arthur as the Point Man passed by him. As he glanced back, he could see that the old man was giving a murderous stare. Then more projections began to bump into him. A young blonde woman with a low-cut black dress, a slightly older woman with her hair cut in a short bob, a man who's face was purposely unshaven. They all walked into him, glancing back at him afterwards.

Finally, he reached the stairs, which forked and led to two different rooms. Oh God, which one to choose? He paused, observing the characteristics of each doorway. They both were identical double-doors, baring intricate carvings on the dark wood doorframes. Right or left? They both were the same. Why did Ariadne have to design the dream like that?

Finally, he sighed, and chose right, simply because of the fact that he was right-handed. He had a fifty percent chance of finding the girl in that room. It was worth a shot.

Ariadne woke up gasping desperately for air, only a second after feeling the cold metal pierce her skull. Around her was the familiar meeting room dominated by the richly-polished mahogany table, which both Arthur and Mr. Kaneda were stationed at, both still virtually dead to the world and hooked up to the PASIV. Cobb was standing in the corner, his eyes wide in fear and his chest raggedly rising up and down. His trembling hand was still hovering slightly over his heart, which probably where he had been shot.

"Are you alright?" She asked in a gasping, breathless voice.

The Extractor nodded vigorously, a few sweat-dampened strands of hair that had once been slicked back now dangling in his slightly-reddened face. "Yeah, we need to get Arthur and this girl out. Where's the ice-water?"

"Oh, right he-" She felt her lips form a small, shocked _O _as her voice trailed off in disappointment.

"Damnit." Cobb murmured under his breath, raking his hand through his hair slowly.

All the water buckets were on their sides, a cloud of water staining the carpet around them. Of course she spilled them. She definitely wasn't dumb, that was for sure. But at the moment, Ariadne would have really preferred that she was.

She combed her hand halfway through her hair then began clenching clumps of brown hair, her eyes darting from the girl, who was lying on the floor with her long black hair fanned out around her head, to Cobb, who was now checking the girl's pulse.

"How else can we-" Ariadne started talking when she was cut off by the sound of a ragged, breathless gasp, as if someone had just escaped from being submerged underwater for a long stretch of time.

She whipped around, and saw Eames pushing himself to his feet, an expression on his face that Ariadne had never seen him with before. He looked like he had just seen a ghost– eyes wide in not fear, but more of shock, and something that looked like... Reminiscence. His skin was pale, completely white, almost.

"I know her." He muttered under his breath, then focused his slightly crazed-looking gaze to her and Cobb. "I know her."

"Wait, what?" She said, not even bothering to ask him what was going on in the dream, or even how he had died. "You know her?"

Surely he couldn't be serious. At any other time, she wouldn't be surprised to hear that Eames had associated with a girl like her, she was his type after all– dark hair, dark eyes, deeply tanned skin, completely foreign and exotic looking. Ariadne would have guessed she was a former friend, but then again with Eames it was more likely that she was "a friend with benefits". But right now this girl had single-handedly infiltrated their mission and was posing a serious threat to them.

"What's going on down there?" Cobb asked, strolling over to them.

Eames finally shook his head and established eye contact with the Extractor. "She got to Mr. Kaneda, and she told him me, you, and Arthur are trying to perform an Extraction."

She watched Cobb inhale sharply, once again running his hand through his hair. "Shit."

"And she's captured Arthur." Eames added suddenly.

At the moment, it didn't seem like the situation could get much worse. This girl had compromised their entire operation in a matter of minutes. They would be lucky if they even got out with the idea.

"Does she have the idea?" Ariadne asked, glancing up at Eames.

The Forger shrugged with his palms upturned. "I don't know."

"Put me under, Eames." Cobb said suddenly, rolling his sleeves back all the way to his elbow to expose his forearm. "And Ariadne, I want you to get out of here. Shoot yourself, stab yourself, jump off the building, I really don't care. Just get out."

"But-" The Architect argued, stepping forward quickly.

"No buts, Ariadne, this is too dangerous for you." He warned, sitting down in the chair, arm outstretched and upturned so that his wrist was exposed and ready for a needle to be placed into it.

"You heard the man, darling." Eames said, shoving the needle into a now-sleeping Cobb's wrist. "Take my gun, if you want."

Then there was another gasp.

Ariadne whipped around, and saw the girl pushing herself to her feet, her dark hair falling in front of her face. The girl looked up, then quickly ran towards the shattered window before either the Forger or the Architect could say anything.

"Marisol?" Eames said, his eyes meeting the intense brown gaze of the girl, who was gripping the edge of the window, her chest rising and falling in ragged, breathless heaves.

The brunette didn't answer, but instead let herself fall backwards out of the window.

"Wait!" Eames yelled, rushing towards her, even though it was obviously too late.

Ariadne just stood there, bewildered by the sequence of events that had just unraveled before her.

"You know her?" She asked, tilting her head slightly.

Eames exhaled as he placed one hand on his side, inadvertently pushing back his slightly-wrinkled black dress coat to reveal a small handgun attached to his belt. "Um... Yes, she is– or _was_, an old friend. I used to work with her."

_More like friend with benefits. _She mused, taking her mind off of the task at hand momentarily. It didn't surprise her that Eames had been friends with someone like that. As her gaze moved around the room, she realized that Arthur was stirring in his seat, until his eyes opened lazily. Cobb stirred also, then slowly opened his eyes.

"Did you get it?" Ariadne asked Cobb, even though her gaze was still fixated on the Point Man as he pulled the needle out of his skin.

"Yeah." Cobb said with a quick nod, pulling his gun out. "Let's get out before Mr. Kaneda wakes up."

There was the sound of several gunshots, then they all dropped to the floor.

Cobb opened his eyes to the familiar sight of a cramped train compartment, Arthur, Ariadne, and Eames all sitting across from him, Mr. Kaneda sitting next to him. Yusuf was kneeled near the PASIV.

"Did you get it?" Yusuf asked quietly, his dark brown gaze moving around the compartment nervously.

"Yes." He replied, sticking his slightly trembling hand in his pocket just to be sure.

His unnaturally rapid heartbeat slowed to a more comfortable pace as he felt his fingers grazing across the smooth surface of the envelope, which had been folded several times in order to fit into his pocket.

"Why the Hell did you let her go under?" Arthur demanded bluntly as he stood up, his dark eyes narrowed angrily.

Yusuf's hands quickly shot up as if someone were holding a gun to him. "She had a gun, Arthur. I told her no, but she knocked me out. I woke up a few seconds before you all."

It was at that moment that Cobb noticed the large lump that was swelling on the Chemist's temple. The lump was clouded with different shades of black, blue, and purple. _Apparently she's as dangerous in reality as she is in a dream_. He thought.

"Well, either way, let's get out of here before Mr. Kaneda gets up." He said, looking towards the portly businessman as he leaned against the wall, asleep.

A few minutes later, the train stopped at a large station that closely resembled Grand Central Station. They all got off quickly.

"I'll get the papers to Mr. Hadock, and the money should be wired to your bank accounts in about a week." Cobb said, glancing around the large, crowded station. "You know the drill, no contact for a month, unless it's a true emergency. I'll contact you when there's another job."


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **I'm trying to keep everyone in character, but it's kind of hard since I haven't seen the movie in a while. Also, there'll be a bit more A/A here, but remember, I'm trying to keep things slow and give it good tension. Some of this chapter takes place in a part of Puerto Rico called Old San Juan. It might help if you look up some pictures of it, it's really gorgeous.

**Disclaimer: **I forgot to do this before, but anyway, I do not own Inception, or any of the characters. (I wish I owned Joseph Gordon-Levitt, and if not him, at least Ellen Page, because I'll admit, and I'm a girl, she's pretty hot)

The heavy stench of alcohol and cigarettes saturated the night air, along with a cacophony of intoxicated voices shouting in Spanish and the joyful, fast-paced beats of the local salsa music. Eames wove through the tight crowd of burly old men with Cuban cigarettes in between their yellowed teeth and drastically-younger, women clad in not much more than bikini tops and cutoff shorts. His shoes scraped against the rough cobblestone of the cigarette and empty beer bottle littered sidewalk. Reggae, hip-hop, and salsa music blared from inside the classic, pastel-colored buildings that lined both sides of the street.

Normally, the Forger would be embracing the boisterous, carefree atmosphere of Old San Juan after dark, but tonight he planned to find someone. An old friend. Of course, he did plan to celebrate a little in the Puerto-Rican city, the very place he had discovered shared dreaming.

He had traveled to Puerto Rico a few years ago, back before he had been into shared dreaming. At that time, he had been making his money through either counting cards or drug-smuggling. He had been hired to smuggle some Cocaine into Puerto Rico. Even though he was a smoker and a drinker, he had never really been into drugs, but the job paid well and he loved to travel. That was where he met Marisol.

Marisol was like the female version of him, which was sarcastic, laid-back, and a lover of drinking. She was a local to Puerto Rico, and the two had met at a bar in Old San Juan. In addition to her agreeable personality, she was definitely a catch. Her father was Lebanese, and her mother was Puerto-Rican, and the combination had resulted in a breathtaking mix. Her hair was long and black, framing her tanned oval face. She had brown doe-eyes lined with thick black eyelashes, a small sloped nose, high cheekbones, and full lips. Also, she had what Eames described as _"a bloody nice chest"_.

Eames felt yet another intoxicated woman purposely brush against him. He glanced back, just in time to catch a woman with sun-bleached hair smile at him coyly. Trying to be nice, he forced a slight smirk, then continued walking through the streets, scanning each bar he passed by. If he knew Marisol as well as he thought he did, then she would be at a hole-in-the-wall pub that had probably been established years ago.

Up until the Kaneda job a few weeks ago, he hadn't seen her in three years. Ever since seeing her, he had been plagued with the question of why she had infiltrated the job like that, and who had hired her. Also, he missed her laid-back personality and head-turning looks. They had slept together a few times, but never actually been in a relationship.

Finally, after walking for an hour or so, he came across a bar they used to visit regularly. He paused in front of the open doorway, observing the muddle of drunks that crowded the cramped, brightly-lit pub inside. A weakly-lit neon sign hung above the doorway, spelling out the words _La Copa Vacia_, which ironically translated into _The Empty Cup_. The _L _flickered weakly, threatening to go out at any minute.

"Where are you, Marisol?" He muttered under his breath, slowly stepping into the crowded bar.

It wasn't at all impressive, just a bar stocked with a wide variety of beers, wines, and rums to the right, and a few booths pressed against the wall on the left. Most of the people inhabiting the bar were portly old men, most with bushy black moustaches flecked with grey, curly-haired women with too much makeup and too little clothing, and tourists dressed in Hawaiian shirts and khaki shorts.

But what caught his eye, though, was the crowd of people gathered around one of the tables, shouting in Spanish, pushing between each other desperately to see what was going on, and waving fistfuls of money in the air. He narrowed his eyes, a young blonde girl with a bottle of beer in her hand bumping into him.

"Excuse me." He said repeatedly as he attempted to wedge himself through the drunken crowd, unsure if whether not his speaking in English was actually doing him any good.

When he finally got close enough to see what was going on at that tiny table that could be so interesting, he found himself looking at a large old man sitting at one end of the table, surrounded by a plethora of empty shot glasses, a half-full bottle of _Pyrat Rum_ on the middle of the table, none other than Marisol at the other end, also surrounded by empty glasses.

She hadn't changed much since he last saw her. Long black hair poured over her shoulders, a splatter of freckles coated across her nose and cheeks, and smoky eyeliner rimmed around her eyes.

Eames quickly plunged his hand into his pocket, clasping his fingers around the familiar red poker chip, just to be sure he was awake. The moment felt slightly surreal, sort of like those experiences people described where they felt like they were simply watching the moment unfold before them through someone else's eyes. After all those years, there was almost an eerie sense of déjà vu. It was almost amusing to realize how many times he walked in on scenes just like this.

He watched silently as the man downed another shot, pressing his hand to his mouth and coughing. His dimpled, scarlet-flushed cheeks inflated each time he released a rough, throaty cough. The Forger's gaze moved towards Marisol, who was sitting up straight with both her palms flat against the table, eyes narrowed and an eyebrow raised expectantly. Her lips were pulled into an arrogant smirk.

She obviously hadn't recognized him yet.

The man continued to cough violently, until finally, his eyes closed, and he fell against the table, obviously passed out drunk.

Marisol jumped up out of her seat with her lips split into a wide grin, pumping her fists into the air victoriously. She staggered a little, but quickly caught her balance.

Half of the people in the crowd broke out into cheerful roars of victory, waving their money in the air. The other half groaned and rubbed their temples, slamming their money on the table.

"Pagar, muchachos." She said, holding out her hands expectantly.

Eames smirked a little, pulling a wad of Puerto-Rican cash out of his pocket. "That deserves a reward." He said, placing the cash in her hand.

Marisol narrowed her dark eyes in confusion, then looked up at him.

"Eames?"

The Forger grinned. "In the flesh, darling."

Marisol eyed him carefully, her lips slightly parted, her foot tapping nervously. He noticed the way she slipped her free hand into the pocket of her slightly-frayed jean skirt, pulled out a small hourglass no larger than her palm, and slammed it on the table. Her dark eyes focused on the sand as it poured into the bottom of the hourglass, the top taking only a few seconds to empty. _Course she's checking her totem. _He mused, rocking back and forth lazily on his heels.

"Fuck off." She snapped bluntly, snatching up the hourglass and making her way straight to the bar.

Eames flinched a little at her words. That was unexpected, even for Marisol, the girl who once was arrested for throwing a sofa off the roof of a building. Of course, how do you respond when a person who you haven't seen in several years suddenly shows up a few weeks after you try to infiltrate an Extraction they're performing? Also, she had just won a shot contest, so that had to contribute somewhat.

"That's rude." He said, following her up to the bar.

He placed his hands on the smooth edges of the bar, one of his fingers touching a small pool of what was most likely beer.

"You know, this morning I woke up with the most odd feeling that today would be a bad day." Her moderately-accented voice was slurred from a most likely heavy dose of alcohol. "Now I know why." She added, glancing up at him.

"Honestly, darling, was that really necessary?" He replied, leaning against the bar and smirking.

"What the Hell are you doing here, Eames?" Marisol lifted a bottle of beer to her lips, only to realize that it was empty, and tapped the surface of the bar to attract the attention of the young bartender with short black hair spiked with gel. "_Barman_, _otra cerveza, por favor_."

The bartender nodded. "_Subiendo derecho_."

"Make that two, please." He said with the naïve hope that the bartender spoke English, raising two fingers just in case he didn't.

"You didn't answer my question." Marisol sang in a sing-song voice, quickly snatching up a _Dos Equis _that the bartender slid to herand lifting it to her lips with her head tilted back.

"Well, I came to ask you why the Hell you infiltrated that Extraction." He said, leaning towards her.

Marisol exhaled slowly, lazily tossing her hair behind her shoulder. Her eyes were half-closed when she looked up at him and said matter-of-factly, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, cut the B.S., I know it was you in that dream." He argued, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes.

"Yeah, so what? You still got out with the idea, so why do you give a shit?" She said with a lazy shrug. "Thanks to you, I had to relocate from Madrid back to here, because my client's pissed that I didn't get what he wanted."

Her predicament sounded a lot like the predicament that Cobb and Arthur had with Cobol. Apparently Cobol had hired them to perform an Extraction on Saito, which they failed, and ever since then Cobol had been after them. However, they hadn't had any run-ins with any Cobol agents in a year, so it didn't really seem to matter any more.

"Who hired you?" He asked, nonchalantly drumming his fingers against the smooth, dark surface of the bar.

"Some…. Businessman after the same idea. If you're worried people are finding out about you, don't be, everyone was after that idea." Marisol leaned down and rested her elbows on the bar, letting them slide out wider and wider.

"What was his name?" Eames asked, leaning down closer to her so he could understand her drunken mumbling better.

She shrugged. "I don't remember."

Suddenly there was an awkward silence, like an invisible had been built in between them. Marisol looked around with her lips pursed then examined her nails nonchalantly, while Eames toyed with his poker chip in boredom.

He had forgotten that Marisol tended to be a nasty drunk. Very nasty. Her vocabulary tended to wander into more colorful, expressive, and described by some as "crude" regions, also.

"Is this the only reason why you came to see me?" She said, turning around and leaning against the edge of the bar.

Come to think of it, it kind of was. But he wasn't going to tell her that, at least not when she was drunk. She would probably reply with some sort of insult.

"Well, I also came because I was sick and tired of Paris." He said, shrugging and tilting his head casually. "But mainly I needed to know why you tried to ruin our job."

"I already told you, a bunch of people were after that idea."

It was at that moment that he realized that interrogating Marisol while she was drunk was useless. If he was going to get any information from her, at least anything truly useful, he would have to wait until tomorrow to talk to her.

"So how's your father?" He asked suddenly, in an attempt to ease the torturous silence between them.

Marisol, who had been pressing her beer to her lips and gulping it down, suddenly slammed the bottle down and looked up at him with her eyes narrowed in a murderous glare. "How do you think he is?"

He shrugged, silently scorning himself for bringing up her father when he knew all too well it was a sore subject. "I dunno."

"I gotta go." Marisol said suddenly, digging through her purse and pulling out a few dollars, which she then placed on the bar. "_Mantener el cambio_. _También estoy pagando por su._" She said to the bartender, then started stumbling drunkenly through the crowd and towards the door.

Eames took a sip of his drink, then glanced towards the bartender, who was vigorously wiping down a glass mug with a dingy gray rag, and slid a few dollars towards him.

"She paid for yours." The bartender said, pushing the money back towards him.

"Oh." He said, grabbing the crinkled dollars and stuffing them in his pocket. "Well then in that case, take care."

"You too." The bartender replied, glancing up momentarily.

Eames hurried through the crowd, quickly making his way out the door and into the streets. Marisol wasn't too far ahead of him, still stumbling slightly with her head lolling lazily.

"Marisol!" He shouted, causing her to turn around.

The dark-haired girl tossed her head back and groaned. "Oh God."

"You know, you're a pretty mean drunk." He declared, lightly jogging to her side.

"Hey, I hold my alcohol very well." She argued, pointing a slender finger at him and with her arm flinging slightly.

Then, she moaned a little, and collapsed right next to him.

"I knew that was coming." He muttered, pausing to look down at her.

What was he going to do? He couldn't just leave her out on the street, passed out drunk. But he didn't know where she lived, either. Then again, he could probably just check inside her purse for a key or something.

He exhaled, and leaned down to put an arm around her slender waist, then hoisted her up. She moaned sleepily, her head falling from the right to the left. Her hair fell in front of her face like a stringy black curtain.

"God, you're heavier than you look." He muttered in a strained voice, jerking her back so that she was leaning against him.

_Where's a bench? _He mused, glancing around the street until he found a once-black bench that was now stained with red from excessive rusting and coated in graffiti. He placed Marisol on the bench and then sat down next to her.

"Now, now, now, let's find out where you live, shall we?" He said to her sleeping form, reaching across her and gently slipping her metallic silver purse off her shoulder.

Eames pulled the purse open, to reveal a mess of different items all piled together. There was an unopened box of _Marlboro _cigarettes, which made him narrow his eyes, since he thought she had quit smoking. In addition to the cigarettes, there were a few different chap-sticks, some eyeliner pencils, a small pink hairbrush, a bottle of pepper spray, a black _iPhone_, and a pack of _Nicorette_.

"There's your wallet." He said, pulling out a dilapidated, leather wallet that was veined with brown and stuffed with receipts, money, and pictures. "You know, I probably should feel guilty for going through your wallet, since it is," he paused to shrug, "After all, an invasion of privacy."

Despite the fact that he was now getting suspicious stares from people passing by, he couldn't help but take advantage of the fact that he could now say whatever he wanted to Marisol after she'd nearly compromised their mission, and then been so rude to him when he came to talk to her.

"Hmm." He sorted through all the cards and dollars.

After shuffling through her stuff for a minute or so, he found out that she lived in an apartment complex not too far away. With that, he found a taxi, then the two rode to Marisol's home.

By the time they finally arrived at the apartment complex, it was 11:43. The place was a humble collection of buildings that went up only three stories, and it was located in a flat, grassy area surrounded by palm trees. The buildings had a slightly Mediterranean style to them, with red-bricked roofs and white stone walls.

"Here you go." Eames said, leaning down and handing a few dollars to the driver, who was sticking his hand out of the window expectantly.

"_Gracias._" The driver replied, his bushy gray moustache twitching slightly as he coughed.

Eames nodded, his arm wrapped around a still-asleep Marisol's waist. Marisol was slouched over so much that her black-painted fingernails were lightly grazing against the scraggy, gray concrete.

"And you are on the," He paused to glance at her key, "First floor."

He quickly dragged her to her apartment, receiving a few glances from the occasional late-night jogger. Glancing back warily, he had to stifle a laugh as he watched her flip-flop-clad feet dragging behind her.

"Let's get you inside, before someone thinks I drugged you." He mumbled under his breath, glancing back while using a trembling hand to shove the cold key into the glossy, gold-colored doorknob.

The door groaned a little as it swung open, revealing what looked like a small living room, but he couldn't tell because the lights were off. He pressed his hand against the wall, feeling around for a light switch. His fingers hit something cold and smooth, and he pressed on it.

Suddenly, the entire room was flooded with bright light. It was, indeed, a living room, one that was unnervingly clean. There was a small couch made of tan leather, pressed against the plain white wall. In addition to the couch, there was a coffee table with a stack of magazines aligned perfectly and a few coral-colored candles, a moderately-sized TV placed on a black TV stand, and a bookcase completely full of books organized by size.

One of the things that he had never understood about Marisol was her compulsive need to organize. And count. She liked counting things. Footsteps, the number of times she closed a door, how many times she wore something. And when it came to organization, she was freakishly anal-retentive. Everything in her house was organized either by size, alphabetical order, or color.

"You'd better thank me in the morning." He announced as he tossed her onto the couch carelessly, then turning around to head out the door.

Then he paused, turned back around, and suddenly headed down her hall, and into the kitchen. The kitchen was also small, and white, and impeccably organized.

Five pans with orange, rubber handles hung over the stove, organized from biggest to the smallest. There were no dirty dishes in the sink, nor any on the impossibly white counters.

He grabbed a small pink piece of paper hanging on the refrigerator and a glossy black pen from a grainy wood cup full of pencils, pens, and markers, then quickly scribbled something on the paper.

"You'd better read this." He mumbled, pressing the note on the refrigerator and placing a circular, blue magnet over it.

"_Oh Dios mío, realmente tengo que dejar de competir en concursos de tiros_." Marisol groaned, massaging her throbbing temples.

Every inch of her body was wracked with dull, pulsing aches that made her bones feel hollow and her muscles feel limp. Her brain felt like it was being squeezed by her skull, and her skull felt like someone was pounding it with a hammer.

God, why did she agree to that shot contest? She knew it had been a bad idea. Then again, she tended to agree to things she knew wouldn't end up well. Mostly because there was the occasional time when they ended up good. She lived by the idea that it was worth a shot. This time, however, was not, because now she had just woken up in her living room with the world's worst hangover.

_Wait- I don't remember coming home last night. _She realized, suddenly shooting up from the couch. Her lips slightly parted in confusion and her hands clenching the wrinkled edge of the couch so tightly that her bones were protruding from under her skin, her gaze scanned around the living room. _What the Hell? _She gripped a chunk of hair, suddenly realizing from it's stringy, greasy texture that she needed to shower. How did she end up in her home? The last thing she remembered was walking down the streets of Old San Juan with Eames before passing out.

Eames.

A slight smirk tugged at the corners of her lips. _He brought me home. _Despite the fact that the Brit annoyed the Hell out of her, she couldn't help but feel a bit fond towards him because of what he had done. Especially since he had done it even after she had been so rude to him. Even though he didn't look it, Eames could be caring. But that didn't make up for the fact that he drove her crazy. She used to be friends with him, but that was years ago. Besides, after the way their friendship ended, he couldn't have expecting anything other than for her to be rude to him.

Suddenly her stomach began to feel like it was full of boiling water. She jumped to her feet and ran to the bathroom, barely making it in time before she threw up. Luckily, she was able to throw up in the toilet.

"Gross." She moaned, looking away and cautiously pressing down on the silver handle of the toilet with one trembling finger.

A vile, rotting taste permeated her throat and mouth, making her want to puke more. She rubbed her parched tongue against her teeth, trying to somehow get the disgusting taste out of her mouth.

"I need water." She mumbled, turning around and shuffling out of the bathroom, looking somewhat like a zombie with her tangled black hair, eyeliner smears under her eyes, and monotonous shuffle.

Marisol clutched the smooth white door frame for support, and slowly made her way to the kitchen, occasionally stumbling into the wall. Tremendous pressure surged through the sore bones of her legs with each tiny step she made. Salty tears began to form in her eyes as she got closer to kitchen, which had the lights on.

"He's willing to take me home after I pass out drunk on the street, yet he can't remember to do something as simple as turn off the lights." She moaned, the dry walls of her throat trembling.

The light made pain rocket through her skull. She blinked several times and reached out to grab the gleaming, silver handle of the refrigerator, when she noticed an unfamiliar note.

_Meet me at the Oceane Café over at Old San Juan._

_-Sincereley, Eames_

Eames nonchalantly drummed his fingers against the warm wrought-iron surface of the table, watching for a familiar black-haired, tanned girl to approach him. _I bet she's still asleep. _He mused, observing the pastel-colored buildings and glistening blue ocean before him.

He had to admit, he had picked a nice spot to have breakfast. It was a small café in Old San Juan, with outdoor tables that overlooked the ocean. Sunlight blanketed the area, making little dots of light bounce off the pockmarked water as it slammed against the rocky edges of the raised dock. A cool breeze drove through, providing a temporary release from the heat of the morning.

Eames glanced up, and noticed a girl making her way down the sidewalk and towards him. Her dark hair was pulled up into a sloppy ponytail, a bunch of strands falling out and dangling in her tan, freckled face. Large dark glasses concealed her eyes, which he could guess had dark bags under them. The corners of her lips were turned down in a frown.

"Morning, darling." He called out, flashing her his signature Cheshire Cat grin.

Marisol responded by simply raising her middle finger and holding it out for him to see.

"I guess you're pretty mean when you're hung-over, too." He said, still grinning as he watched her pull the chair across from him out from under the table and plop down in it.

"Shut up." She said bluntly, her voice as hoarse as someone who had been smoking their entire life. "What do you want?"Eames leaned back a little, turning up his palms in mock surprise. "What? No 'thank you', or even a 'hello' for the bloke who dragged your drunk ass to your house after you passed out in the streets?"

"Yeah, I guess I do owe you for that." She admitted with a shrug as she massaged her temple, her elbow resting on the table. "But still, what do you want?"

He shifted in his seat so that the hard edge of his chair wasn't digging into his back. "I want to know who hired you."

Marisol sighed, letting her head droop in annoyance. "God, I told you, I don't remember."

"You don't remember the name of the man who hired you?" He said, raising his eyebrow .

"Yep." She replied, forcing a toothy grin that was so wide her round cheeks were touching the edges of her glasses.

"Honestly, Marisol, I know when you're lying." Eames leaned forward, pressing his elbows against the table and clasping his pale hands together. "So you should probably give up trying to lie to me and tell me the truth."

"It doesn't matter." Marisol croaked, reluctantly placing her glasses off of her face and placing them in front of her.

He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, the hard surface of the table sending a dull pressure through his elbows. "If it's not important, then why won't you tell me?"The waitress, a woman who appeared to be in her early thirties with sun-bleached blonde hair that was pulled into a low ponytail, approached them with a plate of scrambled eggs and a glass of orange juice. "Here are your eggs." She set the plate down in front of Eames. "And he told me you needed orange juice."

The waitress put the orange juice in front of Marisol.

"_Gracias_." Marisol said, glancing up at the woman with a small smile on her lips.

"So, will you answer my question now?" He asked, gazing at her and smirking expectantly.

"God, fine, whatever." She said, slamming her hands down on the table. "The man who hired me was the same man who hired you."

"Wait, what?" He said, his eyes suddenly becoming wide.

Was she talking about Mr. Hadock? She couldn't be, there was no way. Why would he hire someone to do what she had done?

"James Hadock. Someone told him you were actually working for another company, and that you were going to give the idea to someone else instead." She said, then paused and gulped down some of her orange juice.

"Who?" He asked, his muscles suddenly starting to feel limp with shock and nervousness.

"I don't really remember. It was a guy that worked for some company called, um, um," She pursed her lips and snapped her fingers over and over again, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Cobol."


	3. Chapter 2

Author's Note: **Alright, seriously, if you read my story PLEASE review it. Also, if you have an Arthur/Ariadne story, I'd love for you to tell me so I can read it and probably review it. This chapter finally has some A/A in it. I want you to realize that this chapter might seem like it's slightly Cobb/Ariadne at first, but it's really just because I want to show the interaction between them. Don't worry, though, Cobb is going to be more of a father-figure to Ariadne. By the way, this chapter takes place in Paris. Please tell me if my story is too rushed, or if all this viewpoint-switching is too confusing. Seriously, I appreciate your feedback.**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Inception L

Ariadne exhaled and pushed a limp strand of hair out her face in frustration, sweat making her pale fingers slide along the smooth black surface of her charcoal pencil. Her gaze scanned over the plain, off-white paper of her sketchbook. A nauseating boiling feeling grew in the pit of her stomach as she sat there in silence, waiting for a burst of inspiration to hit her. Her fingers twitched slightly as she waited for an idea, an idea that could actually be used in real life, and not in a dream.

That was one of the consequences of dreaming that she had discovered- while her architecture had become much more beautiful and breathtaking, none of it could be used in the real world. It just wasn't enough for her. She had contemplated going into Limbo a few times, but dismissed the idea each time.

Her gaze suddenly moved from the empty page to the collage of magnificent feats of architecture she had hung on the wall- the _Taj Mahal_, the _Eiffel Tower_, and much, much more.

In a way, she hated Dom for bringing her into the dream world, for bringing her into this state. Any ideas she had were now only possible in dreams, and because of it, her grades were dropping. But at the same time, she was grateful to him. She couldn't imagine her life if she hadn't discovered the secret world of dreams. It just seemed as if it would be hollow, as if something would be missing.

Ariadne raked her hand through her hair, then began clutching huge clumps tightly, ignoring the pain that built up in her roots. Her entire body was tense and rigid with frustration as she stared at the empty page. The sharp edges of her fingernails dug into her scalp. She sighed, when she suddenly heard a door creak.

Her entire body tensed up warily. The rational part of her told her it was nothing, but the other part of her told her she was in danger. She slowly stood up, and began making her way towards the hall. A rigid tenseness filled the air. The eerie feeling of being watched loomed over her. It felt like someone was behind her. She peeked around the corner, and saw that no one was there.

Ariadne exhaled. _You're just being paranoid. _She reassured herself, turning around. Then she came face-to-face with a man wearing glasses, and who was pressing a gun to her forehead.

Dom leaned forward and narrowed his eyes, a trembling finger resting lightly upon the trigger of his gun. He watched as the small black top in front of him spun and spun, then began to wobble a little. Then a little more. But it still kept spinning.

He closed his eyes and held his breath, pressing the gun to his temple. His stomach clenched uncertainly, and his heartbeat sped up to a ragged, exhilarated shudder. _Open your eyes, and if it's still spinning, pull the trigger. _He told himself, opening his eyes.

The top was still spinning.

He inhaled, his finger tensing up in preparation to squeeze the trigger.

The top dipped, then fell over.

Dom exhaled, focusing his gaze on a dark stain on the otherwise spotless beige carpet. _I'm not dreaming. I'm not dreaming. _He didn't really believe he was in reality, either, though. Frankly, he couldn't make up his mind about where he thought he was. His totem told him he was awake. But yet he still wondered if he was asleep. If the world around him wasn't real. What did it mean to be real? What made something real? If you could feel it, or see it, or hear it, or taste it, was it real?

Those questions burdened him constantly, day and night. He could still picture the faces of his children, their wide, ecstatic smiles when they saw him return. And he could imagine the looks on their faces when they found out he was gone once more.

His gaze traveled from the stain on the carpet, to the windows that gave him a view of all of Paris, of all the lights that dotted the city, of the Eiffel tower as it stood high above all the other buildings in all its glory.

An eerie sense of déjà vu possessed him- he remembered doing the exact same thing after the failed Extraction on Mr. Saito. And that hadn't even been the first time he'd done that. He had done it countless other times. He found that even when the top spun continuously for an improbable amount of time, he couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger. Because he was afraid that the moment he did, the top would fall over. And then a second later it would fall over, reminding him that he was just being paranoid.

Suddenly his phone lit up and started shaking violently on the surface of the black coffee table. He narrowed his eyes, wondering who could be calling him at 10:26 in the night. The number flashed across the glowing blue screen. _731-362-4925_. His body tensed as he realized with a sense of dread that he didn't recognize the number.

"Hello?" He said, pressing the phone up to his ear.

"_We've got your Architect." _The static-laced voice on the other line replied bluntly.

For a moment, he didn't think he heard them right. "Wait, what? Who is this?"

"_We have your Architect." _The voice said.

Suddenly everything felt like it was frozen. He could have sworn he felt blood drain out of his fingers, which became icy and numb. His entire body became stiff and tense.

"You have Ariadne?" He said, clutching the firm edge of his chair for support as he stood up.

"_You wanna talk to her? We got her right here." _The voice on the other line said with a somewhat mocking concern.

"_Cobb, what the Hell is going on?" _He heard Ariadne scream into the phone, her voice scratchy and waterlogged from crying. _"Please, just get over here now!"_

"Ariadne? Listen to me, calm down. I need you to tell me, have they hurt you?" He said, feeling his entire chest pound in fear as he pictured what they could be doing to the tiny girl.

"_No, but I thi-" _Suddenly her voice was cut off.

"_If you don't want your Architect dead, I suggest that you get over to her apartment now." _The man on the other end of the line stated bluntly, a sick edge of sadism weaving through his static-saturated voice. _"And if you try anything, we shoot her."_

Then he hung up.

Dom felt like his entire body was stone. Like a statue, almost. He had no idea what to do. _Who the Hell would kidnap Ariadne? _He wondered, pacing rapidly across the warmly-lit living room, his eyes darting uncontrollably to different pieces of furniture. The real question was why. How would they benefit? He thought back to all his previous clients, thinking of anyone who could have possibly had a reason to threaten his team. Then, a single word came to his head.

_Cobol._

He suddenly looked down at his phone, and punched in a number with a trembling finger. The muscles in his wrist were so tight and tense it hurt, like someone was pulling on them.

"_Cobb?" _Arthur said, oddly not sounding drowsy, even though it was night.

"Arthur, Cobol's found us." He said the moment he knew Arthur picked up the phone. "They have Ariadne."

"_What?" _

Cobb heard the phone hit something, probably the floor. He and Arthur were the ones that were wanted the most by Cobol. But it didn't surprise him they were using Ariadne as bait. Hell, if their plan to use her as bait didn't work, they would probably torture her for information, if they didn't kill her first.

"_Damnit." _Arthur muttered under his breath, then paused. _"What do we do?"_

"They told me to meet them at her apartment." He said, quickly making his way to the door. "Get there immediately. I'm on my way right now."

Arthur slid his hands along the smooth, gray leather of the steering wheel, then suddenly wrapped his fingers around it and pressed on the accelerator as hard as he could. The tires screeched shrilly as they rubbed against the asphalt, and the car sped out of the dark, empty parking lot, into the street. He clenched his teeth so tightly he could feel pressure building in his jaw. His eyebrows moved inward in a look of angered focus. The smooth leather slid under his sweat-saturated fingers. He focused his narrowed eyes straight on the road, which luckily wasn't very crowded at the moment.

Gauzy cones of yellow light poured down from the streetlights that lined each side of the street, illuminating it. _After this long. _He thought, suddenly turning right and into a street lined with buildings. _Who knows what they could do to her. _The idea scared him. Ariadne wasn't weak, but she wasn't an experienced fighter, either. She didn't even own a gun. And she was tiny. They could torture her, rape her. Arthur really didn't know her that well- the Kaneda job had been the second one he'd done with her. But either way he felt a slight sense of responsibility over her, like he was supposed to protect her. And now he was starting to feel guilty, guilty for the fact that she was going to suffer for the job that he had messed up.

He exhaled, pressing even harder on the accelerator. The sleek black car rushed past the few other cars that inhabited the street, narrowly dodging a red Jeep. When they did get Ariadne (he wouldn't let himself say _if_), what would they do then? They wouldn't be safe in Paris. They would have to leave the country, probably go somewhere far off where no one would think to look for them. America wasn't an option, not for Cobb, at least. But then again, it wouldn't really matter, because in order to divert Cobol they would have to split up.

_Ariadne's apartment shouldn't be far. _He thought, leaning down so he could see better out of the slightly-grimy windshield. As the Point Man, he had made it his responsibility to know the addresses of all his teammates, except for Eames, because he was always traveling, only bothering to show up when there was a job, and he was annoying. Arthur knew everyone's address just in case of an emergency, such as this. He didn't know her exact address- just which building she lived in.

He could feel his heart beating so quickly it made his entire chest hurt. His fingers twitched impatiently as he made a quick turn to the left. At that moment, it felt like every moment he wasn't at Ariadne's apartment, Cobol's agents were doing something horrible to her.

It felt odd that he was so worried for a girl he really didn't even know that well. Ariadne was a mysterious person to him. Cobb probably knew more about her than he did.

For a few seconds, he removed a hand from the wheel and used it to run his fingers over the smooth metal of the gun at his side, just to be sure. His rapidly beating heart slowed ever-so-slightly at the reassuring touch. He sighed, spinning the wheel to the right to pull up against the curb and park.

His gaze moved towards the only window in the tall apartment building that was looming over him that had a light on. It was on the fourth floor. He exhaled tensely, wondering if Ariadne's apartment was on the fourth floor.

Sighing, he stepped out of the car and into the empty street, which was illuminated by the black-painted street lamps that lined both sides of the street. As he looked around, he realized that Cobb was on the sidewalk, approaching him briskly.

"What's the plan?" He asked, staring up at the glowing window with uncertainty.

"I'm not sure." Cobb replied, crossing his arms. "But my guess is that as long as we do what they want, they won't hurt her."

Arthur quickly moved his gaze from the window to his friend. "I know, but what about us? We can't just hand ourselves in to Cobol like that."

Cobb sighed and shook his head, digging his fingers into his temples. "I know, I know."

The Point Man looked around, suddenly getting the eerie feeling that they were being watched. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, scraping his shoes against the rough concrete sidewalk.

"Let's go in there and see what they want." Cobb said suddenly, suddenly making his way towards the glass double-doors that led inside the apartment.

Arthur stepped forward, mouth open and ready to say something, then stopped himself when he suddenly realized he didn't have a better idea. Sighing, he pressed his sweat-drenched hand against the lustrous surface of the glass door, his skin sticking to it slightly, and stepped into the small lobby. A wall of cool air slammed against him the moment he stepped in, giving a slight jolt. He couldn't help but notice that several cameras were placed in corners of the walls.

"Excuse me, sir." Cobb said to the middle-aged man slouched over at the curved front desk. "Sir?"

Suddenly they both could tell something was wrong. The gray-haired, bearded man's eyes were closed, and his face was pressed against the grimy black keyboard of his computer. Arthur felt his pulse begin to race and his lungs inflate. He narrowed his eyes, placing his hands on the gray counter of the front desk.

"Sir?" Cobb said again, this time grabbing the man by his crisp, light blue collar and pulling him up.

There were two bullet holes in his chest, clouds of scarlet pooling around them, staining the pale blue shirt.

"Shit." He muttered as Cobb let the man's head slam back against the keyboard with a loud thud.

His gaze traveled around the small, warmly-lit lobby, scanning over the empty red chairs that lined the walls and the painstakingly-detailed painting of a fruit basket that was hung on the wall.

"Let me find out which room she's in." He said, quickly making his way around the gray front desk and shoving the dead man out of his way.

He managed to knock over a white mug of coffee and stain a stack of papers clipped together in the process. _A-R-I-A-D-N-E. _He punched the grime-covered keys and watched the letters show up on the glowing blue screen, his elbow touching the brown pool of cold coffee.

Luckily, there was only one person named Ariadne, and it was their Ariadne.

"Her room is number 25, and it's on the fourth floor." He recited, glancing up at Cobb.

They quickly made their way down the hall and to the elevators. Arthur let his fingers hover nervously over the gun at his side, prepared to grip it at any minute. His eyes stayed locked on the dark embossed numbers lined above the silver doors as they lit up every few seconds.

The air felt rigid and stiff, as if at any minute something bad was going to happen. Every breath he made was controlled and calculated, his lungs feeling as if they were pressing against his ribs. He couldn't help but feel uncertain. Frankly, he found it unbelievable that after nearly a year, Cobol was still after them. And now they had found them. After the botched Extraction on Mr. Saito, he had been nervous once he knew that Cobol had been after them. But as time went by, and as he found himself able to live a life that at least looked normal, he began to forget all about the fact that there was a bounty over his and Cobb's heads.

_Ding._

The doors slid apart, revealing a brightly-lit hallway empty of people. They glanced at each other once, then stepped into the hallway, both with their hands hovering over their guns. As they walked, he glanced at the numbers on each beige-colored door. _Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. _He listed off in his head, his heart beating just a bit quicker each time his eyes grazed over another number.

"Here we go." Cobb said under his breath, stopping in front of a door with the number 25 on it.

The door was just slightly open, a definite sign someone had been there. A tight pulse throbbed in Arthur's chest as he laced his fingers around the gun and raised it in preparation to shoot. He could feel the muscles in his hands trembling as he anticipated the moment they walked in, unsure of what exactly they'd find. They could walk in on a grisly murder scene, and find out that they were too late. Or they could walk in on nothing at all, and realize they'd been tricked. Neither sounded too good.

Cobb kicked the door open, causing it to swing back and slam against the wall with a loud thud. They both stared down a short hallway that led into a small, living room. Arthur inhaled, and stepped in first, holding the gun up in front of himself. His gaze scanned around the small apartment, which to his surprise appeared to be empty of people. Instead, all he saw was a small living room occupied by a gingham couch, a coffee table, and a small TV. Piles of paper, some with unfinished sketches of buildings on them, pencils, and erasers were strewn across the coffee table, obscuring what it's surface looked like. Pictures of places like the _Taj Mahal _and _Eiffel Tower _were thumb tacked to the plain white wall.

"Check the rest of the apartment." Cobb ordered, lowering his gun.

He nodded, starting down another small hallway that was across from him. This one had two doors on the right, and three doors on the left. As he slowly made his way through the hall, he noticed pictures of Ariadne with her family hung up on the wall. Inching towards the door at the end of the hall, a soft, muffled crying sound became slightly audible. He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, feeling his stomach clench uncertainly. As he got closer, the sound got slightly louder. It sounded like someone was struggling. He could hear an occasional soft thud along with the muffled crying.

His heart now felt like a shack with someone locked inside, kicking and banging desperately to get out. He inhaled, and kicked the door open.

This time a different scene was revealed.

At least four men were standing in Ariadne's bedroom, all dressed in boring black suits and ties, dark glasses concealing their eyes. One of them, a balding man who appeared to be in his mid to late forties, had his arm wrapped around a squirming Ariadne, a gun pressed to her temple.

Arthur raised the gun immediately, waiting for one of them to shoot at him or throw a punch at him.

Ariadne's eyes widened at the sight of him. "Arthur!" She cried with her lips spread in a desperate yet relieved smile, only to have a hand pressed over her mouth.

"Let her go." He said bluntly, his gaze bouncing from each man quickly, scanning over the small bed with a red blanket dripping off of it and the large wood chest with drawers hanging half-open.

"Only if you turn yourselves in." The man holding Ariadne replied.

Ariadne flailed her legs in an attempt to kick the man who was holding her, but obviously failed.

"Who are you?" Cobb said, suddenly showing up behind Arthur, also holding up his gun.

"We're from Cobol." The man said, his thin lips twisting into a sadistic smirk. "Remember us?"

_I knew it. _Arthur thought, pressing his lips together and aiming his gun from person to person. His wrists quaked fearfully, despite his attempt to put on a calm façade.

"What do you want?" Cobb said, his normally steady voice shaking slightly.

"I think it's pretty obvious what we want." The man said, exposing his clenched teeth in what was neither a smile nor a grimace.

The Point Man glanced back at Ariadne, who's eyes were glazed over and had large tears sliding down her pale face.

"Let her go first." Arthur stated, keeping his gaze locked on the Architect.

"Lower your guns." The man ordered, nodding towards them.

He and Cobb exchanged slow, uncertain glances, then raised both their arms and let go of the guns. The metal weapons hit the gray-carpeted floor with a thud, then rested at their feet.

"Now let her go." Cobb said, his arms raised.

The men glanced at each other, all smirking in a way that instilled the unnerving feeling that they had a trick up their sleeves. Finally, the man holding Ariadne focused on them, then shoved the small-framed girl into Arthur's arms. Ariadne, holding her arms against her chest and clenching her hands, collided into him.

"Are you okay?" He said, clutching her by the wrist.

She nodded, brushing a wiry strand of hair out of her face with her violently shaking hand.

"Good, get behind us." He said, gently pushing her backwards so that he and Cobb were shielding her.

"Now you have to uphold your end of the deal." The balding man said.

Arthur looked at Cobb, silently asking him what they were going to do. Surrender and turn themselves in? Frankly, he'd rather not. But at the same time, the odds of them succeeding if they went ahead and tried to take on Cobol's agents seemed slim.

Suddenly, Cobb swung his fist at one of the men. Arthur grabbed his gun and shot at one of the agents, the bullet narrowly missing and hitting the beige wall instead. The sound of gunfire rattled through the air.

"Run." He said to Ariadne, pushing her out of the room.

A Cobol agent swung at him, but he dodged out of the way and grabbed the man by the collar, ramming him into the chest. Multiple photos and figurines came crashing down and hit the floor, some shattering into a plethora of jagged pieces. He held up his gun and made his way backwards, then began running down the hall, Cobb not too far behind him. He sprinted through the cramped apartment, towards the open door. Bullets shot past him, some nearly grazing against his ear.

His entire chest throbbed violently with fear. He glanced back, pushing himself through the door and sprinting into the hallway. _Where's Ariadne? _He looked left and right, searching for the young college student. But she was nowhere to be found. In a way, it was good though, because it could mean she had already escaped. Not wanting to waste time, he continued running through the hallway, now hearing a jumble of footsteps behind him.

Arthur suddenly spotted the large white door to the emergency staircase at the end of the hall, and started running towards it. He could hear voices behind him, which forced him to run even faster.

"How far are they?" He asked, spotting Cobb sprinting up behind him. "Not very far, come one." He replied, running past him and pushing the door open.

Arthur stuck his arms out to stop the door from hitting him and shoved it open, stepping into the stairway. He gripped the cold, metal banister and sprinted down the stairs, his shoes sliding against the floor slightly. His ribs felt like they were squeezing his lungs, blocking the breath in his throat. As he looked down over the banister, he spotted Ariadne not too far down. She was leaned over with her hands on her knees, panting breathlessly. Determined to get out, he started running faster, not caring that at any moment he could slip and fall. The sounds of their footsteps rattled through the once-still air of the staircase, bouncing off the walls and echoing loudly.

"This way!" A voice rang through the staircase, causing him to look up and spot two Cobol agents above him.

He clutched the banister and used it to propel himself forward, towards Ariadne, who was now only a few steps away.

"Come on." He said, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her behind him.

The first floor wasn't too far down. He breathed a sigh of relief at the thought of climbing into his car and driving away, away from Cobol's agents. Just a few more steps, and they would be in the lobby. _Sixteen, fifteen, fourteen. _He began to count down each step in his head, ignoring the sounds of Cobol's agents behind them. _Thirteen, twelve, ten, nine, eight. _So close, so tantalizingly close. He glanced back, a sudden jolt of fear rocketing through his body when he realized the two men weren't too far behind them.

The boom of gunfire rang through the air, bullets shooting past them. He ducked down, pressing his hand on the back of his head. Suddenly the steps ended, and the door was before them. Arthur shoved it open, bursting into the lobby, Ariadne and Cobb with him.

_No… _He thought, realizing that there were two more Cobol agents standing in the lobby before them.

"Give up, you're surrounded." One of them said, aiming his gun towards them.

Cobb raised his gun and shot at the two agents, hitting one of them in the leg. The agent yelled out in pain, gripping his legs with his face twisted in agony.

Arthur started running again, narrowly dodging a bullet that was shot at him by the uninjured agent. He could see his car parked out in front of the building. A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, despite the chaotic situation that was happening before him. Another bullet whizzed past him, this one hitting the glass door and causing it to shatter, a plethora of broken glass raining down. He moved back, holding his arm in front of his face to shield himself from the glass. The glass piled at his feet. He lowered his arm cautiously, then started running outside and towards his car.

"Get in!" He ordered, wrapping his fingers around the lustrous black surface of the door handle and jerking it open.

Cobb climbed into the passenger's seat, and Ariadne ran into the back seat, all of them slamming the door moments before the car sped away.

"What was that?" Ariadne said the moment they started driving.

"Cobol." Arthur replied bluntly, pressing his foot flat against the accelerator.

"What's Cobol?" He heard Ariadne reply from the back seat.

"About a year ago, they hired us to perform an Extraction on Mr. Saito, but we failed." Cobb said, looking back at the Architect. "But we failed, so they put a bounty on our heads."

"We thought they gave up searching for us, but obviously they didn't." Arthur added, turning the steering wheel to the left. "What are we going to do now?" He asked, glancing at Cobb.

The car made a sharp turn down the street.

"Well, right now the best we can do is get as far away from them as possible." His friend replied, pulling the glove compartment open and fishing through it. "We need to warn Eames and Yusuf, also."

Arthur sighed, keeping his gaze focused on the road. Exactly how far was far enough? A few miles? Or did they have to completely leave the city? At the moment, it seemed like nowhere was safe. Like no matter where they went, Cobol would find them.

"Let's find a hotel to stay in, then tomorrow we'll get some plane tickets." Cobb said, rubbing his temples with frustration.

"Wait, what?" Ariadne said, leaning forward and gripping the leather edges of their seats. "They're looking for you two, not me."

"True, but they'll use you to help them find us." Arthur said, glancing back at her. "Which means they'll kidnap you and torture you for information."

"Ariadne, they didn't hurt you, did they?" Cobb asked suddenly, holding up a wrinkled map of Paris.

The Architect shook her head. "No."


	4. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **Sorry about the ending of the last chapter, I know it sucked, and sorry it took so long for me to update, I had writer's block. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that more reviews makes me write more. Also, I went to the dentist's, and we ended up talking about Inception the entire time (you know, when my mouth wasn't full of dentist's supplies). So it was a pretty sweet dentist's appointment. One again, just a reminder, more reviews=more chapters. ;)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Inception

Ariadne slouched with her head drooping to the side, trying to fall asleep despite the fact that the car she was in was obviously going way over the speed limit. Every so often, Arthur would make a sharp turn, and the sudden jolt would cause her to jerk forward and get choked by her seatbelt. The rough gray fabric continually rubbed against her neck uncomfortably, which meant she had to adjust it every so often.

"There's a place I know, at least a mile or two away, we should be able to get a room for each person." She heard Cobb saying quietly.

They must've thought she was asleep, because they had been talking quietly for at least an hour. She closed her eyes, wishing she were asleep. If she were asleep, at least she wouldn't have to sit there with nothing to think about but the fact that earlier that night she had been held captive by a group of Cobol agents and used as bait.

Flashbacks of the experience still echoed through her mind, haunting her every time she tried to go to sleep. The fact that she had been kidnapped and used as bait hadn't exactly sunken in yet- she was still trying to figure out whether or not she was in a dream. Unfortunately, in all the chaos of the moment, she'd left her totem at her house. And now because of it everything seemed unreal. She felt detached and numb, almost like she was looking through someone else's eyes. Sort of like she was in a dream- not one that was induced, but rather a natural one, the kind where she was dazed and simply watching the dream happen before her.

How long had it been since she last had one of those dreams? It seemed like forever, which was funny, since the Kaneda Job was only the second one she'd done. She hadn't completely lost her ability to dream naturally, though. But it felt like it was slipping rapidly out of her hands, like she had to hold on tight to it and savor it for as long as she could, because at any moment it could be gone.

"Where do we go tomorrow?" She heard Arthur asking, his voice lowered to something barely above a whisper.

Ariadne pulled herself out of her sleepy state and focused on what the two men were saying, shifting slightly in her seat so that she was no longer leaning against her own shoulder.

"I don't know. Mombasa isn't an option, obviously, since it's swarming with Cobol agents." Cobb replied with a frustrated-sounding sigh, his voice weighed down heavily by drowsiness. "But we can't stay here, either. I was thinking maybe London or Madrid, or possibly even somewhere in Russia."

_Russia? _She thought, the fact that she was going to have to completely uproot herself and travel somewhere totally new setting in for the first time. _What about my classes? How am I going to explain that? _She felt like her stomach was pulsing nervously, a slight wave of nausea rolling over her.

"You do realize that somewhere along the lines we're going to have to split up?" Arthur said in a low, grim voice.

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Cobb replied quickly, speaking under his breath.

She could just picture the older man sighing and raking his hands through his hair, his eyes squeezed close in a look of frustration.

"What about Ariadne? Do you think she'll be safe all alone?" Arthur asked suddenly.

Blinking rapidly, the Architect sat up in her seat, listening even more closely to them now. She hadn't even considered the fact that they would have to split up. The idea of traveling alone, in danger of being kidnapped and tortured by a ruthless group of men, in a foreign country scared her. She felt like she was in one of those horror movies where she knew everyone was going to die. Where no matter what she did, where she went, she was simply stalling her own death. It felt inevitable. Trying to push the thought of her mind, she curled up into a ball into a ball, pulling her legs against her throbbing chest and wrapping her arms tightly around them.

"I'm not sure. I mean, I'm not saying she can't take care of herself, but she's a college student." She heard Cobb say. "I don't even think she knows how to shoot a gun."

Actually, she remembered using a gun at least two times- in Limbo, when she shot Cobb's shade of Mal, and in the Kaneda job when she used one to wake herself up. But that wasn't exactly what one would classify as "experience".

"So what do you want to do?" Arthur said.

She heard a sigh. "I was thinking maybe one of us could stay with her, at least nearby to make sure she's alright."

"Well, which one of us could stay with her?" Came Arthur's rapid reply, even though he sounded like he was falling asleep.

Then there was an uncomfortable pause. Suddenly, the only sound audible was the low roar of the car as it sped through the street. Ariadne sucked in her breath, waiting anxiously for one of them to say something.

"You." Cobb finally broke the silence.

Ariadne exhaled, unsure of whether she should be relieved or nervous. At the moment, she felt both. It was an intoxicating mixture, a lot like the feeling of fear and adrenaline combined that she got when she did something dangerous or exciting. She didn't actually know that much about Arthur, not even his last name. But she did know there was something oddly intriguing about him. While she hated to admit it, she often found herself hoping that their kiss during the Fischer Job hadn't just been to distract the projections. The rational side of her told her it was just to distract the projections, but the dreamy, hopeful side of her thought the opposite. Unfortunately, it seemed like the rational side of her was right most of the time.

"Me? Why not you, you know her better." For the first time it sounded like Arthur was panicking.

"Because you two wouldn't look suspicious traveling together. I'm not saying you have to pretend to be a couple or anything, I'm just saying you need to stay with her." Cobb said. "You can do that, right?"

As much as she could deny it, she actually could have sworn she felt slightly disappointed by what he said. _God, give it up already. _She told herself, squeezing her legs even tighter. Her little crush on Arthur almost made her feel a bit guilty in a way. All her life, Ariadne had never really been one to have "crushes". She never spent her time sighing over celebrities or drawing little hearts around the names of boys in her school. No, she spent most of her time as a recluse, focused only on her grades and her architecture. And she prided herself in her ability to look beyond simple things like dating hot guys or wearing makeup. She even considered herself to be somewhat of a feminist. But when she was around Arthur, all those clichéd feelings she heard about in romance novels suddenly came to her- butterflies in her stomach, a racing heartbeat, blushing. She hated when that happened. It made her feel like all of a sudden she was like one of those annoying, empty-headed girls from junior high who giggled at everything and twirled their hair dumbly.

"Yeah, of course I can." Arthur replied, stuttering slightly.

"Good." Came Cobb's reply. "Besides, if there's anyone I can trust not to mix business with pleasure, it's you, right Arthur?"

She wasn't sure if she imagined it or not, but it seemed like it took Arthur longer to respond than usual.

"Of course." He finally replied.

Once again, she wasn't sure if she was imagining it or not, but she could have sworn she detected a sense of uncertainty in his voice. She was probably imagining it. She had learned that whenever it felt like all of a sudden something that seemed dire suddenly started looking up, she was imagining it. In times of desperation, people were willing to believe what they wanted to believe. She wasn't sure where she had heard it, but she knew she had heard it somewhere, and it stuck.

"This is the place." She heard Cobb say.

Suddenly, the car began to slow down, then made a wide turn and parked. She opened her eyes lazily, finding herself looking out the window of the backseat to see a large hotel looming over them domineeringly. Looking at it, she really couldn't see too much, not in the dark.

Sleep was now clinging to her like a vine or a parasite, draining the energy out of her. The door opened, and Arthur gently shook her by the shoulder.

"Hey, Ariadne, it's time to get out." He said softly, pulling her by the arm slightly.

She moaned a little, feigning the illusion that she had been asleep the entire time. It'd be awkward if they found out she'd heard their conversation. She stepped out of the car, her feet stumbling slightly as they pressed against the concrete sidewalk. The cool air of the night wrapped around her slender body, sending goose-bumps rippling through her skin. She crossed her arms as tightly as she could, and followed Cobb and Arthur into the lobby of the hotel.

The lobby reminded her slightly of a hotel from the Roaring Twenties or Victorian New York. Her shoes slid along the smooth surface of the glossy, black-and-white floor. She stared blankly at the deep brown pillars that jutted down from the ceiling, which was decorated by antique-looking pictures of chubby, rosy-cheeked angels and fluffy white clouds.

"Watch out." Arthur said suddenly, causing her to snap back into reality and realize she was about to collide into a deep brown chair with red velvet cushions.

She dodged to the side, then looked up at the Point Man. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." He said, the corner of his mouth curling into a slight smirk.

One thing she noticed about Arthur, was that he never really smiled, he only smirked. Come to think of it, she hadn't ever seen him laugh, either. In a way, Arthur kind of reminded her of _James Bond_, in the way he always dressed in some sort of a suit, and the way he focused only on his job and nothing else.

"Do you have three rooms available?" Cobb said to the young, blonde receptionist behind the front desk, drumming his fingers impatiently on the black and white marble surface.

The receptionist raised a French-tipped finger as if to say "one minute", and started searching through the slender gray computer. "Um, yes, they're all standard suites, though. Is that all right?"

Cobb nodded. "That's fine."

Ariadne focused back on the lobby, amazed by how it's décor combined both classic yet sophisticated themes. She reminded herself to take note of it, for any further jobs. After the Fischer Job, she found herself constantly observing her environments, examining what made them unique and realistic.

"Ariadne, here's your card, your room is on the fifth floor." Cobb turned around and handed her the glossy, embossed card. "Arthur, your room is also on the fifth floor. Mine's on the third."

Ariadne nodded, glancing briefly at Arthur. "What are we going to do tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow, we'll go to the airport and buy some plane tickets out of here." Cobb said, his small top clenched in his hands along with the room card.

"Well, where are we going?" She added, shifting her weight and shuffling her feet nervously. "And what about school? How am I going to explain suddenly disappearing for no apparent reason?"

"I think it'd be better if we discuss that in the morning." Arthur said suddenly, his gaze rapidly shifting from Cobb to Ariadne repeatedly. "It's been a long night, right now we need some sleep."

The Architect nodded, looking down at her feet bashfully. For the first time that night, she began to feel the painful effects of running down four flights of stairs in her feet. The muscles in the soles of her feet were aching relentlessly and the skin felt like it was being blanketed by fire ants.

They quickly made their way to the elevator area, passing through halls lined with painstakingly detailed painting and large potted plants, and found themselves standing before three elevators with doors that were a bright shade of gold. Ariadne could see her warped, liquefied-looking reflection cast in the surface of the doors. She focused on the glowing button with the arrow that pointed up, waiting to hear a ding and see it flash a few times. Sure enough, it did after a few seconds, and the doors slid back to reveal a small elevator with a gold-colored railing and dim lights. They stepped inside, and watched the doors slide closed with a slight squeaking sound.

With a slight jolt, the elevator began to slowly move upwards. Ariadne watched the numbers above the doors, which ranged from one to seven. The first number lit up, then the second one. She diverted her gaze away from the numbers, and towards her reflection in the shiny mirror placed on the wall.

Suddenly, there was a ding, and the doors moved back to expose a brightly-lit hallway with a rich red carpet and luxurious gold walls.

"This is my floor." Cobb said, shoving his totem back in his pocket.

The doors closed again, leaving just her and Arthur alone together now. There was a heated, crackling tension in the air that she felt, but she wasn't sure if Arthur felt it also. Probably not. He probably saw her as an awkward young architecture student who was still painfully new to the world of the dream. His occasional protective gestures were probably just an innate instinct to protect someone younger and newer to the dream world than him, and nothing else.

Exhaling, she leaned against the smooth rail and watched as the number four lit up. Not surprisingly, it seemed to take longer to light up than before when Cobb was in there with them. _Come on, come on. Light up already. _She thought, her eyes focused solely on the number five above the door, her chest throbbing as she waited for it to start glowing and the doors to open.

Of course, they took what felt like an eternity. She felt like she should say something, but at the same time she felt like she shouldn't.

Finally, there was a ding, and the doors opened, exposing a hallway almost completely identical to the hallway of the third floor. Ariadne started to step out of the door, and so did Arthur, and they both ended up pausing.

"You can go first." He said with a slight shrug, stepping back to let her though.

She nodded with a slight smile tugging at the corners of her lips, and stepped into the hall. Sighing, she shoved her hand into the pocket of her jeans, and pulled out her glossy room card, which had the hotel's name and the number 542 embossed on it's white surface. _542, 542. _She mused, glancing quickly at the numbers on each door she passed by.

"Hey, Ariadne." Arthur said suddenly, making her turn around to face him.

"Yeah?" She replied, nervously sliding her thumb across the surface of the card.

"Are you sure you're going to be alright? I mean, someone goes through what you just went through, there's a good chance they're going to have some residual effects afterwards." He said with a quick glance at his polished shoes, taking a few steps towards her. "Basically what I'm saying is that if you need any help or anything, I'm such a few rooms down."

She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out. She was still considering how to respond to that. His sudden concern shocked her a little. Not that she didn't think that he didn't care about other people, but Arthur to her had always seemed somewhat vague and detached. He had always been somewhat of a distant, mysterious figure.

"Um, I think I'll be fine." She said finally, tilting her head and rubbing the back of her neck. "But, um, thanks for the concern, though."

"Are you sure? Do you at least want my gun?" He asked, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

"Won't you need it?" She asked, biting her lip as she realized that by asking that she might have actually let him know that she did in fact want help.

Arthur gave her that signature, lopsided smirk of his, then chuckled a little. "I think I'll be fine without it."

Ariadne nodded slowly, her gaze traveling to the floor as she considered saying yes to his offer. As much as she didn't want to admit it, she didn't wan to be alone. Not after that. Those people had gotten into her apartment and taken her hostage. They had held a gun to her head. In a dream, having a gun to your head was scary, but it was nothing compared to the fear of having a gun to your head in reality. In reality, if you were shot, you couldn't expect to just wake up. There would be no waking up. You would truly be dead.

"Here." He said, handing her a small black gun. "Take it, just in case."

She tentatively reached out and grabbed the gun, for a brief second her fingers grazing against Arthur's. "Um, okay. Thanks, I guess."

"Don't mention it." He replied, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his pants. "And remember, I'm just a few rooms down."

She nodded, turning away to conceal the tiny smile that played on her lips. Her fingers skimmed over the surface of the gun, and she turned back around to say something to Arthur. But all she saw was the door to his room closing. The smile fading a little, she tucked the gun under her cardigan and started making her way to her room, silently reminding herself that he saw her only as a coworker- nothing more, nothing less.

Eames sat silently in his chair, eyes darting around the large, bright bookstore as he tapped his red poker chip against the grainy, warped surface of the table. A small cup of coffee with a twisted wisp of steam rising out of it sat in front of him, still having yet to be drunken from. Next to the coffee was a book about Guatemala, which had yet to be read.

Books had never been his thing. Arthur and Cobb had often criticized him for his poor spelling and lack of reading ability, but he really didn't care. He hadn't actually read a book in five years, and he still didn't know the meaning of the word _specificity_, but as far as he was concerned, he was making a pretty good living for himself. Sure, what he was doing was illegal, and he risked compromising his own sense of reality, but he was living pretty well.

"Where are you?" He mumbled under his breath, watching for a familiar face among the rows of book-filled shelves.

Sure enough, that familiar face appeared.

Marisol strolled by, skimming a finger across the glossy spines of a row of mystery novels that filled a bookshelf. She obviously hadn't noticed him, she was too focused on the books. But she would notice him soon. Then again, she would most likely leave once she did.

In a way, Eames felt that her constant sarcasm and rude demeanor towards him was irritating, but he also kind of understood it. Their friendship hadn't exactly ended in a nice way- they had been hired for an Extraction, an Extraction of an idea that more than one company was after. Originally, they were hired by a man named William Drolshagen, but another man, Nick Fritschie, offered Eames even more money if he would deliver the idea to him instead. At the time, money had been limited, and he had been in need of some cash. The amount of money had been even more than the amount that both he and Marisol would have received combined. Reluctantly, he helped Marisol retrieve the idea, then stole it from her and got it to Mr. Fritschie.

Suddenly, Marisol turned around and groaned the minute her eyes met his. Her pink upper lip curled up in a look of detest as she tossed her head back. "God, it's like you're everywhere."

Eames grinned, despite the way she reacted to him. "Nice to see you, too." He said, sliding a small plate with a blueberry muffin placed on it towards her. "I bought you a muffin."

The girl raised a dark eyebrow, placing one hand on the edge of the chair across from him tentatively. "Oh, so you knew I was going to be here? Let me guess, you need me to ask me a few more questions about Cobol." Nostrils flaring slightly as she exhaled, Marisol pulled the chair out and sat down. "Well, let's get this over and done with, so I'll tell you my answer for every one of them- I don't know."

God, she was difficult.

"What, a man can't buy his female friend a muffin just to be nice?" He said as he clutched the red poker chip nonchalantly, leaning back in his chair.

Marisol, whose back was slightly slouched and whose hands were folded on her lap, glanced down at the muffin placed in front of her. "You know that there is only one thing on this entire planet that I am deathly allergic to?"

"Blueberries." He said quickly with a roll of his eyes, leaning forward and resting his elbow on the table.

"So what, you're trying to murder me now?" She said, pursing her lips.

"No, just tempted." He replied, placing a finger on the white plate and sliding it back in front of him. "Listen, I know that you know more than you're telling me."

The key to getting Marisol to talk was to badger her over and over and over until she finally couldn't stand it anymore. Normally, he would have already been out of Puerto Rico the day after he met up with her at that bar, but it was obvious she was hiding something. He could tell. In all the years they had been friends/partners in crime, he had learned many things about Marisol, and one of them was that she never told as much as she actually knew. She was always hiding something. He was having a hard time believing that Mr. Hadock would have simply just hired her like that if someone he didn't even know told him the team of extractors he hired couldn't be trusted.

"And how is it going to make a difference? Either way, Cobol's still after your team. And no matter what I tell you, that's not going to change." She said, propping her elbow up on the table and shrugging.

"Marisol, I've known you long to know that when you say one thing you mean the exact opposite." Eames tapped the poker chip against the table. "So you have no use in lying to me when I know you that well."

"If I throw a stick will you chase it?" Marisol said the moment he finished his sentence, casual sarcasm dripping from her voice.

"Marisol-"

"What about a collector's edition of _Playboy_?" She continued, leaning back against the chair.

Eames sighed, realizing that he was getting nowhere with this. This was the sixth time he'd met her somewhere and tried to get her to talk. Every other time had failed. However, he had the feeling that this time it work, because he was doing things a bit differently this time.

"So why are you asking me all these questions exactly? Looking for a little _specificity_?" Marisol's lips twisted into a tight, upturned smile that had a somewhat devious look to it.

"Just answer me these questions, and I won't bother you again." He said, drumming his fingers nonchalantly against the table.

Marisol, who narrowed her eyes and leaned back a curious look on her face, tilted her head and replied, "Okay."

"What exactly did Cobol tell Mr. Hadock?" Eames said, tapping his foot impatiently against the floor.

"I…. Don't….. Know." She tossed her head back and groaned, enunciating each letter slowly and carefully. "Why don't you get this?"

Maybe she was telling the truth. A person could only lie for so long.

"Okay, new question. What _exactly _did Mr. Hadock tell you about us?" He tried, crossing his arms as he watched Marisol purse her lips and glance away.

"Um, he-he said that you were," she paused and let her eyelids droop in a look of concentration, "going to…. Deliver the idea to someone else. I don't know, he was vague."

He tried to hide the satisfied smirk that was growing on his lips, but it was hard to when he knew he finally had her where he wanted her. He could tell now that she making things up as she was going along. There was a hint of uncertainty in her voice. When she talked, she tended to pause with her lower lip trembling, and look away with her eyes narrowed.

"So he was vague about us, yet he told you the name of the corporation who supposedly sold us out?" He asked, his eyebrows pulling together in a look of suspicion and curiosity.

Another concentrated pause from Marisol. Her dark brown eyes flickered rapidly around the room in what looked like desperation. "Well, I mean, he didn't….. _Exactly _tell me."

"Ooh, he didn't _exactly _tell you." He said with his eyes wide and an eyebrow raised, nodding his head slowly in mock understanding.

Marisol's entire body now was looking tense with fear. Her lips were slightly parted, barely trembling, and her chest rose and fell in a way that made it look tight and stiff with each controlled breath she took. She blinked, her eyes still wide.

Eyes narrowed and smiling sarcastically, he leaned forward and looked her straight in the eyes. "So, if he didn't exactly tell you Cobol sold us out, then how did you find out?"

No response came from her. She stared at him blankly, nostrils flaring and her entire body stiff. It looked as if she was still trying to figure out what to do, how to salvage the situation, even though it obviously wasn't in her favor.

The pause seemed to stretch on for hours. It had probably only been a few seconds, but it felt like hours. Exhaling, he leaned back, but his eyes were still locked on her, still awaiting an answer.

"Who _were _you working for, Marisol? Who were you really working for?" He said finally with a sigh. "Because it obviously wasn't Mr. Hadock."

That was when she shot up from her seat, managing to knock over her seat in the process, and began running as fast as she could through the bookstore. In a flash she was gone, sprinting through the building.

Eames stood up and began chasing after her, winding through rows and rows of bookshelves, his arms narrowly grazing against a few. He could see Marisol sprinting towards the glass double-doors that led outside, into the crowded, sunny street.

"Shit." He muttered breathlessly, dodging out of the way of a large table full of what looked like vampire novels.

His knee rammed against the table, but he kept on running, ignoring the dull pound that manifested in his knee cap. While running towards the doors, he gently pushed back his jacket and ran his fingers over the handle of the handgun he had concealed. He didn't plan to actually use it on her, but he wanted it just in case. Taking a deep breath, pushed the glass doors open and hurried into the busy street, which was blanketed by blinding sunlight and congested with crowds of people, most carrying large shopping bags. He pressed his hand over his eyes to block the sunlight, and looked around for Marisol.

His stomach clenched. In this kind of crowd, she could easily be anywhere. Not to mention she had run cross-country since seventh grade, and she knew parkour. At the moment, catching her seemed like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

Suddenly, he caught a glimpse of a familiar ebony-haired girl with a dragon tattoo on her arm weaving quickly through a large throng of people on the other side of the street. He knew it was her immediately. Inhaling, he ran across the street, towards Marisol. She glanced back and saw him, then broke into an even faster sprint, her hair flying behind her. Eames could already feel a familiar burning sensation swelling in his lungs as he pushed through two people and hurried along the street. _God, she's fast. _He thought, dodging out of the way of an elderly man. His jacket blew back as he ran, exposing his gun.

Not too far ahead of him was a few stairs that led into a large shopping square with a glistening round fountain in the middle. Beyond the shopping square the streets became more narrow, and crowded by vendors selling all sorts of colorful trinkets and foods. The streets were so narrow no cars could fit through them. He already knew that was exactly where she was headed. She was going to go straight into the most crowded, narrow parts of downtown San Juan.

Marisol, who was at a distance close enough for him to barely be able to make out the whites of her eyes, launched herself onto the stone edge of the fountain, landing on her hands first like a cat, then began running along the edge.

Eames was already wishing that he could stop and rest. A tingling warmth was spreading through his muscles like liquid, making sore and aching with each step he took. Every breath he took was a deep inhale that made his lungs swell to the point that it felt like his ribs were closing in around them. But he couldn't quit, not now, not again. He needed to get her.

"Watch it!" Someone yelled as Marisol shoved them out of the way.

Eames darted onto the congested sidewalk, narrowly missing a collision with a plump woman in a bright, ankle-length dress and sandals. Marisol was far ahead of him, weaving through the crowd with remarkable speed and fluidity. The entire area had become torturously claustrophobic, packed with carts full of exotic fruits and trinkets and people carrying large baskets full of food. He inhaled sharply, realizing with relief that he was beginning to catch up to her. The soles of his feet burned more and more every time he took a step, but he ignored the pain and focused only on catching Marisol.

The girl had suddenly darted into a narrow alleyway and disappeared. Eames followed after her, finding himself surrounded by narrow walls that rose up high above him domineeringly and blocked out the sunlight. There was a fire escape along each wall. He gasped a little as he watched Marisol jump like a cat onto a large, blue dumpster overflowing with trash. However, instead of running across it, she paused, head tilted to look up at the slight overhang of the roof. _What is she doing? _He wondered, not yet aware that he was making a mistake by slowing down slightly to watch her.

Then, she bent her knees slightly, now facing the fire escape nearby the dumpster, and leaped towards it, grabbing onto the edge of one of the iron railings. In an instant, she launched herself to the side and against the graffiti-covered brick wall. The moment she hit the wall, she pushed herself up and grabbed onto the slight outcropping of the roof, and pulled herself up and onto the roof.

"Bloody Hell." He muttered under his breath, raking his hand through his hair in frustration.

But he couldn't give up now, not yet. With an exasperated sigh, Eames started running towards the fire escape, relieved that the ladder was already lowered, sparing him the trouble of trying to get it down.

"I really should've learned parkour." He said with a grunt as he placed his foot on the first step of the ladder then began climbing up as fast as he could.

At the rate he was traveling at, Marisol could already be long gone. Gritting his teeth, he continued climbing up the ladder, clenching his sweat-dampened fingers around the rusted, peeling railings of the ladder. His foot slipped against one of the steps, making him stumble and almost fall backwards. In that quick moment, his heartbeat sped up to a frenzied, ragged pound.

"Come on." He said breathlessly, pulling himself up to the next platform, then starting up the next ladder.

Only three more and he'd be at the roof. He hurried up the ladder, the muscles of his arms aching painfully. They were beginning to feel limp and numb, like spaghetti. _Two more. _He thought with his teeth still gritted, making his way to the next ladder. Gigantic beads of sweat were now coating his warm face, dampening the roots of his hair.

Finally, he reached the one at the top. Eames jumped up and grabbed onto the overhang, his feet dangling no more than a few inches over the surface of the platform. The rough, pebbly surface of the shingles rubbed against his skin to the point where his fingers were covered in raw, stinging scrapes. He grunted and pulled himself up, sliding his arms farther across the roof. His muscles ached as they were stretched to their limit, but he just ignored it and hoisted himself up.

Now on the roof, he could see Marisol was on the other side of the roof. He pushed himself to his feet, and started running towards her. His feet slipped against the shingles as he made his way up the slanted roof. He leaned forward in an attempt not to fall over.

"Oh, come on!" Marisol yelled as she looked back and saw him, then jumped with her arms outstretched, and landed on all fours on the roof of the next building.

He could hear her muttering something that sounded like "Fucking idiot" as she ran across the roof. Suddenly, he began sliding as he reached the downward-sliding part of the roof. Heart convulsing in terror, he fell backwards in an attempt to stop sliding. The shingles scraped against his sweat-drenched palms, rapidly peeling off the skin. He finally slowed to a stop, and found himself looking down into a dark alleyway that had various papers and food wrappers covering the cobblestone ground.

His lungs inflated with each breath he took, to the point where they felt like balloons on the brink of popping. The tension that had gathered in his muscles suddenly loosened, making them feel painfully numb and limp. He exhaled, still looking down at the alleyway below him.

"That was close." He said breathlessly, his eyes wide.

Eames pushed himself up, wobbling slightly as he got to his feet. As his gaze moved from the alleyway to the building ahead of him, he realized Marisol was already about to jump down from the roof. He jumped, arms outstretched and eyes squeezed shut. Every inch of his body was tense with fear as he felt himself soaring through the and rapidly moving down at the same time. _You're going to make it, you're going to make it. _He told himself, but he didn't believe it. It felt like he was falling, but he was too scared to open his eyes and check. He knew all too well that at any moment he could slam into the ground.

Suddenly, his fingers touched the familiar rough surface of the shingles that covered the overhang of the roof, and he tightened his grip. His eyes flew open. He realized he was dangling over the ground, clutching to the overhang for dear life.

His heartbeat became a pound so strong and so rapid that it resonated throughout the rest of his body. He gritted his teeth, and pulled himself up, digging his fingers into the shingles. The muscles in his arms trembled as he heaved himself onto the roof.

"Damn it." He panted, gasping for air.

He glanced up with his hands pressed against the roof, and pushed himself to his feet. As he ran up the sloping roof, he could see the muddle of people and stands that sold everything from decorative plates to mangoes gathered in the web on narrow streets below him. The tips of Marisol's fingers could be seen clinging onto the overhang ahead of him, then a second later they disappeared. Astonished gasps arose from the crowd in the streets below him, forcing him to wonder if she fell. He slid forward, holding his arms out for balance.

No, no, she hadn't fallen. She had landed like a cat, on all fours, then stood up and started running again.

"Bloody parkour classes." He mumbled, pacing nervously as he began to wonder how the Hell he was going to get down.

He leaned over the edge, and realized that there were at least three small balconies with rusted metal railings that lined the wall, each below the other. Smirking in satisfaction, he jumped down, landing with a thud on the floor of the top balcony. A slight pound rocketed through his bones, but it quickly subsided, and in a few second he was dangling from the railing and about to swing himself onto the next balcony. With a grunt, he launched himself onto the balcony, wobbling slightly as his feet hit the floor. But he landed safely, and now he only had one more to go. He grasped the railing, and climbed over. His legs dangled over the last balcony, his feet brushing against the rail of it. He swung forward and let go, his feet slamming against the floor.

"_Oh Dios mío!_" Came the shocked exclamation of an elderly woman with bobbed gray hair who had been folding laundry on the balcony.

"Excuse me." He mumbled, grabbing the railing and jumping over it, into the cobblestone street.

More shocked gasps erupted from the crowd gathered in the street. Eames pressed himself to his feet, making out a girl with a familiar dragon tattoo and curtain of black hair weaving through the throng of people. He sprinted through the street, determined not to let her escape. Any sense of pain had been numbed by sheer willpower and determination. Even though his lungs felt like they were about to explode, his leg muscles felt like they scorching and made out of spaghetti, and his feet were burning, he still kept running. He pushed through the crowd, what was once a smirk now fading into a disappointed frown as he realized he had lost sight of Marisol.

Suddenly, there was a girl's yell, and Marisol jumped out of the corner, holding a large plate with a rooster painted on it. She swung plate at him, and it slammed right into his head. He fell backwards, completely dazed. A tremendous, pounding pain pulsed in the bones of his. His forehead felt like someone was whacking it with a hammer. He stumbled back, about to fall, when he managed to catch himself by grabbing onto a cart full of coconuts.

_Bloody Hell, that hurt. _He thought, launching himself forward and into a sprint. The ground felt like it was swinging wildly underneath his feet, but he kept on running, knowing that the dizziness was only temporary. He could see Marisol heading into a wide street full of cars up ahead. Feet aching and muscles burning, he sprinted even faster, pushing people hastily out of the way in a desperate effort to catch up to her.

Marisol paused on the sidewalk, obviously trying to figure out how she was going to make it across the street while it was jammed full of cars. Of course, that fact didn't stop her. She jumped onto the roof of a taxi, then began leaping nimbly from car to car. Drivers rolled down their windows and yelled at her, shaking their fists angrily.

Eames slid to a stop the moment he reached the congested street, gritting his teeth as he realized Marisol had already made it across. She was making her way into a large, public garage that seemed to be at least five stories tall. Exhaling, the Forger began weaving in between the cars, brushing up against the heated bumpers. A cacophony of honks and yells filled the air as he made his way through. He couldn't help but grin and wave cheerfully at a driver who had rolled down his windows and flashed him his middle finger.

Finally, he made his way out of the muddle of cars and into the slightly darkened garage. Everywhere he looked he saw parked cars, but no tattooed, black-haired girl. He slowed to a jog, then finally paused to look around.

Or was it because he was unbearably exhausted? He really couldn't tell at the moment. The rush of adrenaline mixed with the mental and physical pain made everything somewhat confusing. A part of him was saying that he shouldn't be stopping, that he should keep sprinting just in case she was still running. And she probably was. That girl had what seemed like an eternal supply of energy.

"Marisol, I know you're in here, love." He called out cautiously, his voice echoing with throughout the building.

He stepped forward slowly, watching for any sudden movements. But he still didn't see anything. The entire garage had suddenly become eerie, like in a horror movie when a character was making their way through a large, empty building, and you new that at any moment the killer was going to jump out and murder them.

Suddenly he heard a shoe scraping against the rough concrete floor, and then inhale sharply, and he knew neither of the sounds came from him.

Stepping lightly so that he didn't make a sound, Eames began to make his way towards a large, square column where the sounds seemed to come from.

His own breath caught in his throat painfully, making his lungs inflate rapidly like balloons. He continued stepping slowly and silently towards the column, his entire body rigid with anxiety. Every muscle fiber was taut and tense in preparation to either attack or to run. He was half-scared that Marisol might jump out wielding a plate again and smack him in the face with it. Every bone in his face was still pounding painfully from the heavy blow. Breathing in and out through his nose silently, he slipped carefully in between a beat-up red pick-up truck and a gloss black minivan. He was now only a few feet away from the column, and he could feel the tension building to an agonizing level.

There was a prickle of fear and anticipation in the skin of his back, making him want to turn around and check no one was following him. Unable to resist the temptation, that was exactly what he did. Of course, there was no one behind him. Just a large, dim garage illuminated by orange cones of light that poured down from the light bulb that hung from the ceiling and filled with cars in every direction.

"Quit letting your nerves get to you." He told himself under his breath, turning around to find himself face-to-face with none other than Marisol.

Before he even had time to react, she swung her fist at him, hitting him straight in the face, then again, and again. He stumbled back, gripping onto the sides of cars for some much-needed balance. Marisol swung her fist at him again, but this time he was able to dodge back at the last minute.

His mind felt heavy and blurry, and he found it difficult to even think something simple. However, he suddenly remembered he had his gun, which he quickly grabbed and held in front of himself warningly.

Marisol, whose long straight hair was now oily from sweat with strands sticking to her flushed face, actually seemed to be enjoying the fight. Her full lips were split into a wide, amused grin. "You think you're going to shoot me? If I remember correctly, you were chasing me because I have information you need." She declared in between pants, her voice ragged and breathless from running.

"Trust me, darling, I'm very tempted to." He replied, but he wasn't completely sincere.

While a devious part of him did want to pull the trigger, he knew she was right. She had all the information he needed, she had literally just admitted it right there and then.

"Go ahead then, if you really want to." She said, still smiling widely. "It wouldn't be the first time you betrayed me."

Oh God, she was getting into his head. He tightened his grip on the gun, the sweat from his fingers making them slip on the smooth surface. Out of all the things Marisol was good at, some of those things being sarcasm, running, parkour, and fighting, mind games were her greatest skill. When they had been friends, they had joked that she was so good at manipulating people she could perform an Extraction without actually going into a dream.

"I hate to burst your bubble, but there are plenty of other people who I can get the information I need from." He trying to maintain his usual relaxed, sarcastic façade, but the slight trembling in his voice and in his fingers was making it difficult.

Even though he was probably the least religious person on Earth, he found himself praying to God that she wouldn't call his bluff.

"God, what are you waiting for?" She said, brushing a few limp, oily strands of hair away from her red-tinted forehead. "Do it."

Suddenly, he squeezed the trigger. A thunderous boom rocketed throughout the garage, bouncing off the walls repeatedly. The bullet whizzed right past her, missing her head by at least several feet, a mistake only someone who was blind could have made. It hit the windshield of a large, blue van wagon instead. The glass erupted into a million tiny shards then plummeted to the ground, both Marisol and Eames watching.

He lowered the gun, awaiting what he knew could only be a sarcastic reply and possibly a punch in the face. Actually, most likely a punch in the face.

Marisol turned around, the look on her face already telling him she knew he had missed on purpose. "Coward."

Then she moved herself forward nimbly and kicked at him, but he jumped back just in time to avoid what could have been a disabling blow. Marisol, who obviously wasn't ready to give up yet, swung her fist at him, however this time she wasn't aiming at his face, but rather near the front of his shoulder. The moment her tight fist hit his shoulder, an explicable pain erupted in that area, a pain so bad he clenched his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, even though he knew that now he was leaving himself vulnerable.

The pain still strong as ever, he inhaled and grabbed her by her slender right arm, the one with the dragon tattoo woven around it, and slammed it against one of the cars in a fit of rage he didn't know he was capable of reaching. The car's alarm began blaring shrilly throughout the garage.

He himself, Eames, the sarcastic, laid-back Forger who really didn't give a damn about etiquette or manners, found himself shocked by the ferocity of his attack. Sure, Marisol had him pretty damn pissed off, but he had never thought he would actually attack a girl like that, even her. Even though she was tough, sarcastic, and insisted that she could do anything a man could do, only ten times better, he still felt guilty for treating her like that. He felt like he had just attacked someone like Ariadne, who wasn't helpless, but definitely was a lot more delicate.

For the first time ever, Marisol wore a look of true pain on her face. Her dark eyes were clenched shut so tightly he could see wrinkles forming around them, and her lips were curled up to reveal her teeth, which were also clenched tightly. She drew her arms close to her chest in a way that made her look small and cowering.

"Aaah, God, why are you so determined to help those people, you said it yourself, they're not even your friends." She said in a strained voice, occasionally pausing in between two words to let out a hiss of pain.

"Because Cobol's not going to stop at anything to find them, and since I'm associated with them, that means they'll be after my ass also, because I have information they need." He said with gritted teeth, exposing the rarely-seen angry side of him, one that few had privy to.

Sure, he usually did seem to give off an irritated, sarcastic presence, but never an angry one. He enjoyed making fun of that stick-in-the-mud, Arthur, but it wasn't out of anger. Few people could actually rouse his angry side.

Marisol panted heavily, tossing her once-drooping head against the cracked window in exhaustion. Looking at her, the Forger began to wonder if he had actually seriously hurt her. There was a look of pain and fear in her eyes he had never seen before, one that provoked a sickening feeling of guilt and shame.

"So you feel about talking now?" He asked, though the adrenaline in his body was beginning to wear off and leave his voice less angry and demanding than before.

Marisol let her head droop pathetically again, floppy, greasy strands of black hair falling in front of her face in a messy, clumpy curtain.

"Marisol?" He said, now truly scared he might have actually hurt her.

A nervous pulse began to ripple through his body. He breathed in and out in anticipation of a reply from her, but he got exactly what he feared, which was nothing._ Good job, bastard, you just compromised the whole thing. _He thought, resisting the urge to shake her in hopes that she was just faking.

Suddenly, the ebony-haired girl raised her head just enough for her eyes to look up at him wickedly, blowing a strand of hair out her face. The fear of her being hurt was replaced by a much worse fear, when he suddenly realized her pink lips were slowly spreading into a devious grin.

"No." Was her reply.

Then she kneed him in the stomach and grabbed him by both arms, clenching her fingers so tightly he could feel her black fingernails digging into his skin despite the sports coat he was wearing. With a determined grunt and an amount of strength Eames was shocked to see she had, Marisol shoved him against a gray minivan in the same manner he shoved her. Then she began running again, deeper into the garage and farther away from him.

The pain of being kneed in the stomach was unbearable, so unbearable he found himself keeled over and leaning against the side a large car. His entire face was scrunched in agony. As he opened his eyes, he realized Marisol was nimbly leaping from car to car and seemed to headed in the direction of the stairs.

_No, no, don't let her escape. _He told himself, then began sprinting after her. _Sooner or later she's going to get tired and she's going to give up. _Every breath he took was a choking, ragged gulp that felt heavy as it made it's way to his burning lungs. He skirted around a car then reached the narrow stairs, and clutched the flaking white banister in attempt to support himself as he sprinted up the stairs. As he looked up, he could see Marisol was already halfway to the fifth floor, which also happened to be the final.

"Damnit." He muttered, his throat feeling like sandpaper was rubbing against it.

Eames force himself up the stairs, his only motivation the fact that the information she had could help him get Cobol off his ass, and that finally getting her would be a nice little revenge. Despite all the pain, both mental and physical, he pushed on, relieved to realize that he was almost to the top. He couldn't help but grin at the fact that Marisol had unknowingly trapped herself. The fifth floor was so high there was no way she could get down, not even with that bloody parkour of hers. He had finally outsmarted her…. Somewhat.

Finally, he climbed the last step, and stepped into the nearly-empty garage, the wide open spaces where the walls should have been allowing him to look out onto the bustling city full of cars and people below. As he looked around, he realized Marisol was standing at the edge, looking down with her back turned to him. He slowed his pace, but he still kept his gun in his hand, just in case.

A feeling of dread fell over him when he suddenly realized that she was holding a tiny hourglass that he recognized as none other than her totem in one of her hands.

"Oh, God." He muttered, raking his hand through his hair as he stepped closer to her.

Even though she didn't turn around at the sound of his footsteps, which he didn't make an effort to conceal, he had the feeling she knew he was there.

"You're trapped, Marisol, so you might as well give up now." He declared loudly with the gun held up warningly, finally getting her to turn around.

As he made his way even closer to her, she didn't dodge out of the way, or even look scared. She just simply stood there in a look of expectance, and allowed him to get so close to her that he held the gun now a few inches away from her tan forehead, which was shiny from an abundant coating of sweat.

"Okay, okay, fine I give up." She said, holding up her hands in submission. "Cobol hired me to sabotage your mission so that Mr. Hadock would put a bounty over your heads. I was just hired, I don't actually work _for _them."

The moment suddenly felt very slow, and the air felt heavy with shock, even though what she said was exactly what he had expected her to say. It just sounded a lot more shocking when it actually came out of her mouth right before him, and he didn't just picture it in his mind. It all made sense, though.

"Eames, this may seem a bit random, but I don't think I've actually told you how my totem works." She said, her dark eyebrows creeping together and her lips parted slightly with the corners pulled up in a smirk, forming an expression that always made him nervous. "You see, it's an hourglass, in case you couldn't tell, and I know I'm in reality if I turn it over and all the sand falls to the bottom."

He didn't like where she was going with this. He didn't like it at all. The look on her face, the evil satisfaction in her voice, they all told him she was onto something. Something he did not want her to know. Something that could compromise everything.

"Now, when it's a dream, however, the sand never stops falling. Ever. The top never gets empty, and the bottom never fills up." Her brown eyes flicked around the room, and she bit her bottom lip in a way that seemed to give off an air of devious contentment. "The funny thing is, I turned over this hourglass at least a minute ago, and the sand hasn't stopped falling yet."

She knew. There was nothing he could do now, no way to salvage the situation, it was too late.

Suddenly, she kneed him in the stomach, then grabbed him by the arm and twisted it behind his back, forcing him to his knees.

"And I'll take this, thank you." She said with a wide grin, jerking the gun out of his hands and pressing it to the back of his skull. "Did you really think you could trick me into thinking this was reality?"

Then she fired the gun.


	5. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **Whoo! Five reviews! Okay, I know that's actually not that great. But honestly, people, I've had a total 372 hits and 128 visitors. For so many people, I should be getting more reviews than that. Plus, I've been reminding you all nonstop, and by now I'm sure it's gotten pretty annoying. Anyway, what'd you all think of the last chapter? I guess I was kind of taking a risk by showing Eames' serious side. Did I pull it off? Or was it a total epic fail? Also, I read over my story last night, and I just realized that I put no page breaks or spacing or anything when I switched viewpoints, and I'm really sorry about that, that must have made the story totally confusing. I also would like to say thank you to all the people who have read my story so far, and an even bigger thank you to those who reviewed it.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Inception wah wah wah

Cobb rested his elbow on the table, which had a pure white tablecloth draped over it, and looked around the busy breakfast buffet for the small, brown-haired Architect. He had slipped a note under her door that morning to meet him at the breakfast buffet downstairs, but he wasn't sure if she had seen it yet. Sighing, he glanced at his watch, then down at his plate, which was empty, and drummed his fingers impatiently against the surface of the table. After last night's events, his appetite had left him. He felt too busy to eat, like it would be a distraction from the matter at hand- which was that Cobol had found them, and was after them.

He had spent most of the night trying to figure out how exactly they would escape Cobol, what routes they should take and where they should go until they were safe. There was a slight sense of guilt every time he realized that it was because of him that Ariadne was now involved in this whole mess, too. If he had just gone somewhere else to find an Architect, if he had just looked for someone more experienced, then he wouldn't have endangered the life of an innocent college student. But now there was no turning back- no matter how much he regretted it, there was no way he could undo the fact that he was the reason Ariadne was in danger also.

Suddenly, he noticed Ariadne at the other end of the room standing in between two elegant columns made out of a golden material. She was walking towards him, weaving through the tables, some empty, some not.

"I got your note." She said once she reached him, pulling out the chair across from him and sitting down. "Cobb, what's going on?"

She looked like she hadn't slept. Her wavy brown hair was a bit messy and frayed, sticking up slightly. Dark, purple bags hung below her red-glazed eyes, creating a striking contrast to the sickliness of her pale skin. It seemed like she was trying to feign courage, despite the fact that she was actually probably terrified. He wondered how Mal would react if she were there with them, what she would say to him for endangering the life of a twenty-one-year-old girl. She'd probably be scolding him right now, and trying to comfort Ariadne at the same time.

"How did you sleep?" He asked instead, hoping to divert her attention from the question she had just asked him.

He knew what he had just done was a bit uncharacteristic of him, but he really didn't feel like explaining Cobol to Ariadne. Unfortunately, though, he knew it was inevitable. She needed to know, she deserved to. He knew he could only put it off for so long.

"Cobb, I'm serious. Who were those guys and what did they want?" She leaned forward, her fist pressed against the table.

He sighed, glancing away for a second. "They were from Cobol."

"Who?" The Architect narrowed her eyes and tilted her head in a look of curiosity, a look she had used before, at that time they first went under and were sitting at that café.

"Cobol. Before the Fischer job, they hired Arthur and I to perform an Extraction on Saito." He explained, lowering his voice slightly and glancing around warily. "We failed the job, though, and now they're after us. We first thought that they'd just be after us, but obviously what happened last night proved us wrong."

He leaned back in his chair, waiting for her reply. She looked away, her eyes narrowed and her mouth open and moving slightly as if she were trying to speak but couldn't.

"But why are they after me?" She said, leaning forward and gesturing slightly towards herself. "What'd _I_ do? H-how am I tied into all of this?"

"Well, you worked with us, you have information on us." He said with a tilt of his head, shrugging apologetically. "And that means you're in just as much danger as Arthur and I are, so you'll need to come with us."

He knew his plan of escape was severely flawed. He still hadn't come up for an excuse for Ariadne's sudden disappearance, or even where they would go. It would have to be somewhere far, and they were going to have to split up, which was something he didn't like but knew he had to do. It did make him feel a bit better, though, to know that Arthur was going to travel with Ariadne, just to make sure she was safe. Not that Ariadne couldn't defend herself, but she obviously didn't stand a chance against Cobol's agents.

"Wait, where are we going?" She said, her lips parted and quivering slightly in a look of fear.

"Well, we haven't exactly decided on that yet." He said, watching as her entire face fell even more. "Right now, our plan is to fly out of here to Spain, and then we'll decide what we're going to do from there."

Ariadne opened her mouth as if she were going to say something, then closed it, then opened it again. "W-when are we leaving?"

Cobb leaned forward and glanced at his watch, then let his eyes rove around the room, pausing occasionally to observe the linen-covered tables, or the potted plants placed in the corners. "Well, once Arthur gets back with your stuff, we should be checking out."

It was at that moment that he noticed once again how the Architect suddenly looked away and her pale cheeks became tinged with a light shade of pink at the mention of the Point Man. He had heard from Eames that Arthur had tricked her into kissing him by telling her that it would distract the projections during the second level of the Fischer job. Of course, it hadn't. He didn't even have to be there to know it hadn't. If anything, it would have just drawn more attention to them. He wasn't sure whether or not Ariadne had figured this out, but he was sure that he knew that the kiss had better have been a one-time occurrence. Mixing business with pleasure was too dangerous for people like them, and he hoped Arthur understood that too.

"What?" Ariadne said, leaning forward inquisitively.

"Arthur's at your apartment, getting some stuff for you to pack." He replied, watching as a light shade of pink clouded her cheeks quickly. "Hopefully, he should be back pretty soon."

"He's going through my things?" Her eyes became wide, and she raised her voice slightly.

Cobb paused, unsure of what to say, because that was the exact thing Arthur was doing. They had both known it wasn't a great idea, and it was kind of an invasion of privacy, but at the moment neither of those things really seemed to matter.

"Yes, but it's necessary." He reassured with his shrill blue eyes fixated on her, and crossed his arms.

Ariadne didn't seem convinced, though. Her bloodshot brown eyes darted nervously around the room, and her chest began to raggedly rise up and down. "Cobb, I don't think I want hi-"

"Arthur's mature, Ariadne, if that's what you're worried about." He cut in, suddenly realizing that the conversation had become slightly awkward. "Now, I need you tell me, did the men from Cobol say anything to you? Anything at all?"

Cobb watched as Ariadne's eyes flickered around the room rapidly while she nervously chewed on her bottom lip. "Well, I mean they told me that if I tried to escape they'd shoot me. But, honestly, I don't really remember anything much after that."

"Wait, what do you mean you don't really remember much after that?" He leaned forward and narrowed his eyes, his eyebrows creeping together to give his entire face a look of both dread and suspicion.

Ariadne shrugged casually as she gently pressed two fingers to her temple. "I dunno, it's just all kind of blurry after that."

"So you don't remember anything after that?" He asked, raising his eyebrows.

After a long pause, the girl shook her head slowly, then brushed away a loose strand of hair that had been bouncing in front of her face gently. "Nothing. I mean, it feels like I'm forgetting something, but every time I try to figure out what everything just kind of goes blank."

Suddenly, he glanced at her pale hands, which were set gently on the table. "Ariadne, let me see your wrists."

"Why?" She said quickly, pulling them away as he reach towards them.

"Just let me see them." He said, nodding slightly and flicking his eyes at her hands as she held them back protectively.

Slowly, Ariadne extended both her arms and turned her wrists up so he could see them. His eyes scanned over her left wrist, to see that it was perfectly intact. But as they moved to her right wrist, he immediately spotted a small red dot that instantly looked out of place.

"Shit." He muttered, looking around quickly and running his hands through his hair.

"What?" She said, her eyes becoming large in a look of fear.

"I think they went into your subconscious, Ariadne,"

_Alright, so I know, way shorter than usual. I'm sorry, I was blocked, but I knew I should update soon. Anyway, tell me what you think. As always, reviews are more than appreciated._


	6. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **Whoo, so turned out the last chapter didn't do as bad as I thought it would. I apologize for how short it was, and for how short this one is also. I'm also sorry for any OOC-ness in this chapter, I've been a bit blocked lately and a little discouraged by my lack of reviews. I'm kind of starting to question my ability to write a decent fanfiction. I pray you all review my story, because your reviews are what help me to keep on writing.

**Disclaimer: **I _could _say I own Inception….. But then I'd be lying

"What… The…. Hell?" Was the first thing Eames heard when his eyes flew open after the icy metal bullet penetrated his skull.

It wasn't the first time someone had said that to him- he had heard those exact same words many times before. But this time was different. This time he knew that he was truly screwed. He had attempted to invade Marisol's subconscious and perform an Extraction on her. In a way, it worked. She had given him the information he needed. But she also had figured out it was a dream. He began to wonder how he could have been so stupid to think that he could have actually been able to trick her into thinking she was in the real world. The girl had been in the business of dream-sharing since she was seventeen, she was even the one who introduced him to it. After ten years of it, by now Marisol knew how to distinguish the dream world from the real world even without her totem.

Eames pulled the needle out of his skin and looked around, to find himself slouched over in a chair made of glossy, dark brown wood situated in the corner of a medium-sized hotel room with a balcony that overlooked the beach. The red curtains that normally covered the glass doors of the balcony were opened up to allow nearly-opaque rays of milky white sunlight into the room.

"Why, Eames….. Why?" She said, her hands placed on her denim-covered hips expectantly and a dark eyebrow raised.

He blinked rapidly, then straightened his posture and let his bluish-gray eyes meet those of Marisol. "Why what?"

In an attempt to feign an innocence that was really meant to just irritate an already pissed-off Marisol rather than actually trick her into thinking he hadn't done anything wrong, he leaned back in the chair. With his right ankle placed on his left knee casually and his fingers laced together, he stared up at her.

"Oh, please, don't act so innocent, there's no way you can lie yourself out of what you just did." Said Marisol, parting her lips slightly to expose gleaming white teeth that were clenched in anger. "I mean, I know you're not the kind of person to be respectful of someone's boundaries, but this-this…. This is ridiculous!"

"Well, it is what I do for a living, so honestly, what else can you expect?" He grinned, tapping his foot against the cream carpet slightly. "And, anyway, Marisol, you do it for a living, too, so for you to be angry at me for this is really kind of hypocritical of you."

She rolled her eyes and groaned, then turned away with her fingers pressed to her forehead and started muttering something in Spanish.

"So, tell me, exactly how much money _did_ Cobol offer you to sabotage our mission?" He leaned forward with eyes wide in a look of curiosity and excitement.

"You know it's never about the money, Eames." She retorted, grabbing the black leather purse that had been sitting on the plush king-size bed.

He watched as she hurried around the room with her hair flying back, looking for anything else that might be hers. "You sure about that, darling?"

"Goodbye, Eames." She yelled instead of answering his question, slamming the door so loudly he actually jolted up in seat.

He wanted to roll his eyes and sigh at how unreasonable she was being, but he couldn't, because she wasn't actually being unreasonable. She had plenty of reasons to be mad at him. He would probably be mad, too, if someone had invaded his subconscious like that, someone he knew. But he had reasons to justify going into her mind like that, too. He needed to know this information. He and the rest of the team were all in danger now that Cobol had found them. They needed as much information as they could.

"Marisol!" He called out, following her out the door and into the warmly-lit hallway of the hotel.

He caught a glimpse of the girl quickly skirting around a corner, her long black hair blowing back slightly. Sighing, he sped up his pace, and managed to jog up next to her as she paused in front of one of three brass-colored elevators that lined the maroon wall.

"Go away." She said blankly, without even glancing at him through the corners of her eyes, pressing the down button next to the elevator.

Eames stuck his hands in the pockets of his trousers and glanced around nonchalantly, slowly stepping closer to her. "So what'd Cobol tell you about us?"

"Nothing you need to know." She replied with her eyebrows lifted as the doors suddenly slid back to reveal a small, dimly-lit elevator with reflective walls.

"Oh, but I think I do." He said with a close-mouthed grin, stepping in after her.

Marisol inhaled slowly, still looking straight ahead rather than at him. "Get out now, before I shoot you for real this time." From the way her pink lips barely moved as she spoke, it was easy to tell that she was gritting her teeth.

"Nice try, but I know you don't keep a gun in your purse." He remarked with a slight laugh and a grin, leaning against the shiny gold handrail.

Suddenly he heard a click and found himself staring straight at a _Beretta M9_. Marisol was now staring at him with such an intense anger in her dark eyes he was afraid she might actually pull the trigger.

"Oh, boy….. Looks like you do." He leaned back and inhaled slowly.

Marisol removed one hand from the gun, but still kept it pointed directly at his forehead. "You know, Eames, you have the tendency to think you know more than you actually do, which can be a danger to both you and those around you." She paused and sighed, her lips pulling into a small _O _shape. "Fortunately, most of the time it's just a danger to you, which frankly I actually enjoy watching."

"You're not going to be nice about this, are you?" He said in a slightly strained voice, unsure whether or not he should try to take the gun out of her hands, since she could be bluffing.

Probably was bluffing, in fact. Marisol had the mind of a poker player, as did he. They both knew how to play the other person to get them to do exactly what they wanted. He had to admit, Marisol was better at it than him. But he knew all too well that she wasn't going to shoot- there was a security camera in the elevator. From the angle they were at, it seemed like she was able to block the gun from the camera, but she couldn't cover up shooting him.

"You know there's a security camera in here?" He said, glancing up to see the tiny camera in the corners of the wall. "Shoot me, and security will be waiting for you by the time you get downstairs.

Marisol sighed and rolled her eyes, then removed her finger from the trigger and placed the gun back in her bag. "Yeah, I know. Just thought I'd try, since you're usually pretty gullible."

"I wouldn't say that." He retorted quickly, rocking back and forth on his heels.

Eames gently brushed his fingers across the poker chip in his pocket, then tightened his grip around it. He was obviously in reality, but it still never hurt to check.

There was a ding, and the doors slid open to reveal a large lobby drenched in sunlight that streamed in from the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the walls. A chandelier was suspended from the domed, mosaic-covered ceiling, casting small points of light upon the swirled marble tiles of the floor.

"Could you please do me a favor, and, like, _not _follow me around asking me pointless questions for the rest of the day?" She glanced up at him with her eyeliner-rimmed eyes narrowed, her black high-heels clicking against the floor.

He pressed his lips together and looked up, pretending to be thinking about what she just said. "Nope."

"Heh, of course." She said with a roll of her eyes, then turned up her palms and shrugged. "Why'd I even ask?"Suddenly, he realized it kind of actually was pointless to follow her around and ask her questions. He pretty much had the information he needed, which was that Marisol had been working with Cobol. But it just didn't seem like enough. It was too vague, too general. He needed more, and unfortunately, Marisol was probably the best person to get more information.

"What if I offered you a job?" He said, watching as Marisol paused, turned around, and slowly made her way back to him.

"What?" Her bottom lip was curled down slightly and her teeth were gritted.

He shrugged. "You heard me."

Marisol turned her head slightly and opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out. She did this several times, also inhaling and keeping her lungs inflated for several seconds then finally exhaling while she was at it. "Why would you offer me a job? And what the Hell would I be doing?"

_Don't grin, don't grin, don't grin. _He told himself, but was unable to resist the urge and found himself allowing his lips to curl up into a satisfied smirk. The moment she asked what she would be doing he knew she was in. She just couldn't resist the thrill of going under, it was like her one weakness, her Achilles heel.

"Infiltrating the subconscious of one of Cobol's agents, and finding out what they're planning to do to us, and why exactly they're after us." He explained, watching as her eyes moved to the ceiling and she slowly mouthed something to herself. "Of course, there'll probably killing some projections involved, which I am sure you'll enjoy, knowing you like that sort of thing."

To his surprise, she didn't make a sarcastic reply to his comment about her enjoying killing people. "Why me?" For the first time since he had seen her again, she dropped her angry, sarcastic façade, and actually seemed curious for once. "And what would be my reward?"

"Well, first of all, Cobol's not after you, so it's less of a risk than if I tried it." Eames folded his arms. "And, I'm sure I could collect some cash for you as a reward. So whaddaya say?"

Marisol's eyes and lips narrowed venomously, and she uttered a single-syllable word that couldn't have shocked him more. "No."


	7. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **Yeah, so in case you haven't noticed, I have had some really bad writer's block lately. I know, I know, my chapters have been sucking. I have to wait 50 days until I can (legally) watch Inception, so I've been forgetting parts of it, and my characters are getting kind of OOC. Sorry about that. Anyway, read, review, your reviews keep me writing.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Inception….. But in 50 days I'll have it on DVD

The moment Arthur arrived with a small suitcase full of her clothes, the three of them checked out of the hotel and bolted into Arthur's car. He had packed her only the essentials, and somehow he had managed to get Ariadne her totem without actually touching it. She had been about to ask how exactly he had done that, but then stopped herself, knowing that they had more pressing matters at hand. Like the fact that Cobol had infiltrated her subconscious.

Just the very words made her feel violated. The thought of someone actually going into her mind just like that and stealing her secrets made her shiver and wonder what they could have stolen. What they could have seen. And the funny thing was that infiltrating people's minds was what she did for a living, and yet when it happened to her she was horrified. She almost felt hypocritical in a way. After all, she really didn't have the right to admonish Cobol for going into her dreams, when she did it for a living. Well, actually she had only done two jobs so far, Inception and Extraction. But still.

She glanced down at the gauzy ribbon of steam that slowly rose out of her paper cup of coffee, which was scorching hot against her palms. A muddle of voices shouting in French saturated the air of the large train station.

The plan was to take a train to Madrid, where they would then split up. She would be traveling with Arthur to America, while Cobb would be traveling alone to Asia. After that, they weren't really sure. Their hopes were that by then they would have lost Cobol and would have to hide for only a few months before returning back to their regular lives. But that didn't seem likely. As for Eames and Yusuf, they had contacted both of them and warned them. Yusuf had responded, but they hadn't gotten a reply from Eames. Ariadne was somewhat worried for the Forger, but from all the times she had worked with him, she was pretty sure he was out of Cobol's reach.

"Hey." A familiar, nonchalant made her look up and meet the dark gaze of Arthur, who took a seat next to her on the bench.

She straightened her posture slightly and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Oh, hi."

"You didn't sleep, did you?" He leaned forward with a small, sympathetic smirk on his face. "I can't blame you- I probably wouldn't be able to, either."

Ariadne nodded and sighed, the fact that she and Arthur would be traveling together still settling in. "Where exactly are we going? Like, in America?"

"Well," Arthur exhaled and sat up straighter, his fingers clasped together, "I'm not exactly sure yet. Right now, I'm thinking New York might be a good place, possibly Boston."

"Oh." She replied with a slow nod, pursing her lips into a small _O_.

Her eyes remained focused on the dingy gray floor, which had several small piles of hardened gum leeched onto it.

"Listen, we need to figure out why Cobol went into your mind." He said, lowering his tone slightly. "Is there anything you think they could have been after?"

That was kind of a stupid question. Even coming from Arthur. Of course there were things they could have been after, there were tons of things. She exhaled, trying to narrow down the possibilities. _Well, they could have been after what I know about Cobb and Arthur. _That seemed like the most likely possibility.

"I don't know, I'm guessing they were looking for information on you and Cobb." She shrugged and met Arthur's gaze.

"You're probably right, but just to make sure, we're going to need to put you under while we're on the train." He replied, pulling the black suitcase he had been carrying with him up next to him on the bench. "The train has compartments in it, so we can put you under without anyone seeing."

Ariadne nodded again, trying not to take note of the way her entire body became tense and rigid around him and her chest became filled with a nervous fluttering sensation. God, what was it about him? What was it about his crisp, perfectly-fitting three-piece suits, his dark, slicked-hair, and his reserved yet nonchalant personality? And why did it have to be him out of all people that made her feel this way? Out of all the people, it just had to be Arthur, the charming, mysterious Point Man, who also happened to be her co-worker, who made her get those clichéd romance novel feelings.

"Is there anything you can recall, any sort of elements from the dream?" Arthur inquired, turning up his palms slightly.

"What do you mean?" She sat up and narrowed her eyes.

Arthur shrugged and cocked his head. "Sometimes certain details from dreams can be remembered, even though you may not remember the dreams."

She bit her lip and looked up at the expansive glass ceiling, which revealed the milky gray sky. _Think, think, think._ She told herself, already feeling a slight strain in her skull as she struggled to recall the night before. Visions of Cobol's agents, who donned dark suits and dark glasses, holding her down and pressing a gun to her head filled her mind. But that was all irrelevant, since she knew that definitely wasn't a dream. She squeezed her eyes shut, the strain getting worse now. But her mind remained blank. The funny thing was, even though her mind was completely blank, she had that feeling that something was on the tip of her tongue, like an itch she couldn't scratch or a sound she couldn't locate.

"Oh, God, it feels like I know something I just can't figure out what." Said Ariadne, massaging her fingertips against her temples in an attempt to alleviate the pain.

"It's alright, take your time, it's never easy remembering a dream." He said calmly, though his foot was tapping against the floor rapidly. "Try this- are there any recurring thoughts that you've had after last night, that you can't explain where they came from?"

Suddenly, the image of a large, elegantly-built bank popped into her head, actually making her jolt in excitement. Yes, a bank! She could picture a bank. More memories came flowing in, like a dam had suddenly been broken. She remembered a robbery taking place, and she remembered being taken hostage. More visions came to her. She was taken to a vault, a gigantic vault, which they made her open. There were papers inside the vault, and they took every single one of them. After that, she remembered being in her room again, held captive by Cobol's men.

"There was a bank robbery, and then-then…. They took me to a vault, and they made me open it." She said, almost grinning she was so relieved to suddenly remember the dream. "There were a bunch of pieces of paper in it, and they took all of them."

"Good, do you remember anything after that?" Arthur asked.

She pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes and shook her head. "No, nothing after that."

Arthur looked at her with a sympathetic, lopsided smirk. "It's alright, I doubt we'll actually be able to figure out what they took."

"Wait a minute, so then we're not going under?" She glanced at him, ignoring the messy strings of hair that were now dangling in front of her face.

An odd feeling of both relief and disappointment began to swell within her- part of her had, for some bizarre, inexplicable reason, actually wanted to go under. But the other part of her didn't, the other part of her wanted to stay in reality. Unfortunately though, now neither places were safe. She was in as much danger in reality as she was in the dream world. The thought was so unsettling. It gave her an odd feeling of claustrophobia, not a physical feeling, but rather the feeling of being trapped in a dire situation with no way out.

"Come on, our train's here." Arthur said, standing up.

Ariadne looked up, and saw that indeed a long, silver train had now stopped in front of them, and people were now crowding the opened doors in an attempt to get on.

They stood up and started walking towards the train.

"What about Cobb?" She asked, accidentally brushing against Arthur.

In that quick moment, an icy tingle exploded in her abdomen and spread through her chest, then made it's way down her arms and to the very tips of her fingers.

"He'll be fine." Arthur said calmly, stepping onto the train.

The shrill ring of a cell-phone jolted Eames out of his peaceful sleep, a privilege he seldom got to experience. His eyes shot open, greeted by the sight of a darkened hotel room full of shadows stretching eerily across the walls and floors. A few shafts of pale blue moonlight streamed in from the cracks in between the blinds and pasted onto the spotless carpet.

"Who bloody calls at two in the morning?" He groaned, reaching out at his bedside table to grab the glowing cell phone that continued producing high-pitched rings.

His entire body was heavy and limp from sleep. He blinked several times to try and banish the drowsiness away, but it didn't help.

"_I want to help you." _Was the first the heard the minute he pressed the cold, sleek phone to his ear.

Despite the crackling static that ripped through the voice on the other line, he could have sworn he recognized it. It was the voice of a woman, just slightly gravelly, probably from years of smoking cigarettes, and was laced with an unmistakable Spanish accent.

"Marisol?" He said, sitting up straighter, the sleep now wearing away quickly. "How the Hell did you get my pho-"

"_Never mind that." _Her voice cut in sharply, then was followed by a slight pause and a sigh. _"Listen, I've been thinking, and I decided that I want to help you."_

Then again, maybe it wasn't Marisol. Why would she change her mind like that? Eames narrowed his eyes and massaged his fingertips deeply into his aching forehead. What he had said to her a few days before at that hotel had been an impulse. He knew he had no way of knowing that he could trust her. It had just happened. And even after the interest she had shown in his offer, he wasn't exactly too surprised by the fact she had said no.

"What?"

"_I don't have all night Eames, I said I want to help you." _He could now detect a sense of irritation in her voice. _"I've been looking for another job to do anyway."_

Now he was pressed with a difficult ultimatum- to trust her or not to trust. He had plenty of reasons not to trust her. She was a vengeful person, her loyalty tended to be fickle, she had already lied to him, and she had been hired by Cobol to compromise his last job. But at the same time, she was an old friend. In fact, she was the very person who had introduced him to shared dreaming. After about five months of being good friends, she had told him about a job offer that would pay well. At the time, he had been in quite an amount of debt, due to his habit of borrowing money from loan sharks and other shady characters. Of course, he had immediately said yes, and that was when she told him exactly what the job was. He couldn't remember all the details of it now, but he knew it had been a simple Extraction. She had also taught him the art of Forgery in a dream.

"And you expect me to trust you after you lied to me about the reason you tried to compromise our Extraction?" He said, tentatively reaching toward the poker chip that had also been resting on the bedside table.

"_No…. And I don't trust you, either." _There was another pause. _"But I need the money, which I know you can get me, and you need the information, which you I can get you."_

She had a good point. Well, at least it sounded good. He did need the information, and it didn't shock him that she needed money.

"I guess you've got a good point there- why don't you meet me at the café next to my hotel? Say, eleven-o'clock-ish?" He proposed, rubbing the back of his neck, which ached painfully. "Do you know where I'm staying?"

"_Yes." _Her reply surprised his somewhat, and even unnerved him a bit.

"So it's a date, then." He responded cheerfully, sliding back under the soft comforter.

"_I wouldn't go that far." _She warned, pausing for a second. _"And Eames?"_

He sighed, pressing his head into the pillow. "Yes, love?"

"_This doesn't change anything between us." _

"Trust me, you've made me well-aware of that fact." His thumb gently pressed against the red button on his phone, eager to push down harder so he could finally disconnect with her and go back to sleep.

"_Good." _Then the line went dead.

After Marisol's phone call, Eames tried to go back to sleep, but was pitifully unsuccessful. She had given him too much to think about now. Too many opportunities to ponder the agreement he had just made with her, to question whether or not he was making a smart decision. Probably not. But then that made him wonder why he went along with it, even if he knew his odds weren't favorable. Why _would _he agree to let her help him despite the fact she most likely would just betray him again? _Maybe I'm in love with her. _He had considered that possibility, but dismissed it easily, knowing it was ridiculous. Even he was still somewhat surprised by the fact that he wasn't attracted to her in a romantic way. True, she was stunning, and he would admit it, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to look at her in a romantic way. He couldn't figure out why. Maybe it was because of the fact that they had been such good friends. Maybe she wasn't really his type. He did like dark-haired, exotic girls, but in truth he preferred blondes for some reason, which seemed to surprise most people. He would probably never know why he didn't see Marisol as anything more than a friend, or why he had agreed to something so dangerous. But it would never stop him from wondering.

When morning finally rolled around, he heaved himself out of bed and took a quick shower, which immediately woke him up. Afterwards, he quickly got dressed, his outfit consisting of a pale blue dress shirt and brown trousers, and styled his hair in it's usual manner. He grabbed all the papers he had collected with information on the mark, an agent from Cobol named Patrick Lieberman, who happened to be stationed in the Dominican Republic, probably looking for him. That fact meant that he would have to be leaving soon, unless he wanted to be caught and tortured for information. Which he didn't.

Soon, he found himself sitting at a small, wrought iron table with two chairs and an umbrella for shade, stationed just outside of a small café. As usual, the sun was suspended in the cloudless blue sky, blazing splendidly and casting blankets of light upon the worn, cobblestone streets.

Just as he expected, he saw Marisol walking down the sidewalk towards him, her smooth-looking, unbelievably straight pulled back into a ponytail by some odd-looking clip contraption. A few sleek strands were left loose to frame her oval face. She was wearing large, dark sunglasses, making him wonder if she was possibly hung-over from a night of drinking. That seemed unlikely, though, since she hadn't sounded drunk over the phone.

"Okay, let's get straight to business." She said with a sigh, pulling out the chair across from him and sitting down. "Who's the mark?"

Eames pushed the pile of papers towards her and leaned back, hands clasped together and foot tapping slightly. "His name is Patrick Lieberman, and he's an agent from Cobol."

"Alright, and what do we know about him?" She pulled off her sunglasses as she picked up the papers and began sorting through them before slamming them back down on the table.

He shrugged and cocked his head, then leaned forward. "Well, he's thirty-six, he's got two children, ages eight and five, and he's in the Dominican Republic at the moment."

"Oh, so I'm going to have to travel, then?" Marisol said, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms. "I'd better be paid good for this."

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, you'll be paid well." He reassured her, giving her a close-mouthed grin. "And besides, it's not that far off."

Marisol sighed and shifted in her seat. "What exactly am I supposed to be extracting from him?"

"Eh, just whatever Cobol's planning to do to us, nothing difficult." He said with a shrug. "I'm going to need the information soon, though."

"Define soon." Marisol glanced up from the two pictures of the bald-headed, blue-eyed agent she had been holding.

"Four days maximum. That's about how much time I have." He told her, suddenly noticing the tan-skinned man in the taupe-colored suit sitting in a table not too far away from them, staring Marisol down. "You might want to lose that tail of yours, by the way."

The slightly-bloodshot whites of her eyes grew larger. "What tail?"

"The man in the suit, a few tables down." He murmured in a low tone, leaning forward. "He's been staring you down, and I'm pretty sure he was following you when you arrived here."

Marisol looked back quickly, then hunched over, her eyes darting around rapidly. "Damnit." She cursed under her breath.

"Got any idea why he'd be following you?" Eames said, weaving his fingers together nonchalantly.

"He's probably from one of the loan sharks I owe money to." She replied quietly, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I have to go. I'll try to get the information back to you as soon as I can."Eames nodded, and looked up at her as she stood up and quickly shoved the papers into her black, leather purse. "Good. I'll have the cash waiting for you."

_I know, this chapter was probably pretty bad, but as I said before, I've been kind of blocked. At least it's longer than the last two I posted. I'm now finally going to actually start developing the romance between our favorite Point Man and Architect. Anyway, how am I doing so far? And what do you want to happen next- an Arthur and Ariadne scene, or the results of Marisol's Extraction? Read, review, and I'll love you forever (Okay, maybe not, but you will make me a very happy writer, and happy writers tend to write more, which usually equals happy readers). _


	8. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: **So yeah, I kinda had a breakdown there. My self-confidence tends to waver from high to low a lot, so I'm sorry if I gave anyone a scare. To those who want to review but don't have an account, you don't have to have one to write a review. You can just click the review button and enter in a temporary name. Anyway, I will continue working on my story, and I pray that it is to your liking. Thank you to all those people who encouraged me not to give up, I promise I will try extra hard for you. I am going to warn you, though, this chapter is mostly filler.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Inception

Ariadne had always liked trains. She couldn't explain how or why she liked them, she just did. Maybe it was the soothing effect of watching the landscape beyond the fingerprint-smudged glass of the window flash by rapidly. Maybe it was the steady, monotonous rattle of the wheels rolling against the track. She really didn't know, but she didn't care, because at the moment she was utterly and completely calm for the first time since Cobol had kidnapped her.

As she leaned against the icy, somewhat damp window and stared out at the hilly green landscape rolling past her, her heartbeat was at a slow, relaxing pace. She blinked, and pulled the sleeves of her gray zip-up sweater over her hands to protect them from the slight chill that was present in the air.

On the other end of her seat was Arthur, who had a sleek gray laptop open on his lap and was concentrating on something on the screen. Cobb at the moment was at the dining car, leaving the two trapped in an awkward silence.

Well, it was awkward to Ariadne. Arthur didn't even seem to notice, he was too wrapped up in whatever was on that laptop.

"What are you doing?" She finally said, sliding over to look at the glowing screen of the laptop.

Arthur glanced up at her, then turned the computer towards her. "Oh, I'm looking at some possible flights for us to take once we get to Madrid."

"Oh." She nodded, lightly touching the back of her neck nervously. "Isn't Madrid, like, swarming with Cobol agents?"

Talking to Arthur made her feel like she was a six-year-old again. Every time he spoke to her, he seemed to have that sort of fake, sympathetic interest adults used when children told them stories. Whether or not he did that on purpose, she wasn't sure. But it felt like he was. Maybe it was because of her height- she had always been somewhat looked down on because of her slight frame. In school she was called "The Midget", "Shrimp", and "Vertically-Challenged".

"Yeah, which is why we're going to need to leave as soon as possible." He agreed with a nod, then focused his eyes back on the screen. "Unfortunately, I can't find any flights so far that are soon enough."

Ariadne felt her stomach tighten at his words. Maybe she was imagining it, but it seemed like things always went wrong more whenever she was in an inconvenient situation. Of course there were no optimal flights available in the very place that was swarming with Cobol's agents. And now, as hard as she tried to stop it, the thought of being captured by Cobol's agents the minute she arrived in Madrid kept on replaying in her head. Sure, she had Arthur to protect her. At least she knew he could take care of her.

"You need to learn some basic fighting skills, just in case." He said suddenly, closing the laptop and sliding it under the seat. "When Cobb gets back, I can probably go under with you and teach you some stuff."

That wasn't excitement she felt when he said that… She hoped it wasn't excitement. It'd better not be excitement.

"I can shoot a gun." She argued, sitting up straighter in an attempt to feign confidence.

Arthur chuckled slightly, pulling the PASIV out from under the seat. "Trust me, you're going to need to know more than how to shoot a gun."

Once again, there was that domineeringly sympathetic feigned interest again. God, she hated it.

Suddenly, the door slid open, and Cobb stepped in. Immediately, his eyes shot towards the PASIV sitting in between Arthur and Ariadne. "Why is that out?"

"I think it would be a good idea if I taught Ariadne some fighting skills, in case she comes in contact with someone from Cobol." Arthur explained, opening up the silver machine.

Cobb sat down across from them, rolling back his sleeves slightly past his wrists. "You're sure that's a good idea?"

Ariadne didn't say anything, still unsure of whether or she wanted to go under with Arthur. _You need to, what if you run into more agents from Cobol? _She thought, her eyes slipping discreetly towards Arthur. _Just get over that stupid little crush you have on him- you have more important things to worry about._

"She needs to be able to defend herself, Cobol is ruthless." Arthur argued, the way he was staring at Cobb reminding her of two male rams butting heads against each other.

Cobb sighed and leaned back. "True, but you'll have to be quick."

Arthur nodded, then pulled out two needles connected to the PASIV. "Here, Ariadne."

She grabbed the needle, and quickly shoved it into her wrist.

Marisol observed her reflection in the large mirror, checking for any last-minute makeup touch-ups she might need to do. Her silky black hair, which was rippling with waves due to the humid air, had been pinned back in a messy bun at the nape of her neck. A few strands had been left loose to frame her face. Her tanned skin had an exquisite glow to it that certain night. Smoky black eyeliner framed her dark eyes, and her eyelashes were thick and black. Her plush lips were coated in a pale, nude lipstick that tied together the whole look.

As for her outfit, she had chosen a royal blue dress with straps that were angled inwards and connected at the middle of the dress. The skirt was made of a gauzy chiffon fabric that bounced with each step she took.

She needed to look good that night, since she was going to be tricking a Cobol agent into going under. Her plan was simple- she would strike up a conversation with him at the bar, discreetly slip a sedative into his drink, secretly follow him until the sedative took affect, then take him to his hotel room, where a young bellhop she had bribed was waiting.

"I can't believe I'm doing this." She mumbled under her breath, swiping the creamy nude lipstick across her lips one last time before screwing the mauve cap back on.

Ever since the day Eames betrayed her, she swore if she ever met him, she would never forgive him. What he did nearly compromised her identity. She was forced to flee Puerto Rico and go into hiding for a year. Afterwards, she felt a rage and anger for him that was so great she nearly scared herself. Thanks to her, he had discovered the one job that he was truly talented at, the one job that paid him more money than he thought he would ever make in his lifetime. And he just had to go and betray her. Doing a job for him now felt wrong, like she was completely disobeying her conscience, like she was committing the ultimate sin. She tried to justify it by reminding herself that she was in dire need of money. Lately, jobs hadn't been turning up regularly, and she had turned to borrowing money from loan sharks, who she now owed money to. But it still felt wrong.

Marisol exhaled, and started down the warmly-lit hallway, whose walls were a rich gold hue that were illuminated by cone-shaped lamps placed regularly along them. Her glossy, beige pumps thumped against the cream-colored carpet as she made her way to the elevators. She pressed the down button, and waited until the elevator to her left made a _ding _sound, and the doors slid open. Inside, the elevator's walls were made of reflective marble. She leaned against the wall, clinging to the silver railing.

_You're doing this for money, you're doing this for money. _She told herself repeatedly, her chest rising and falling heavily as she breathed.

Suddenly, the doors slid open again, revealing a large lobby with an arched glass ceiling that revealed the darkening sky. People sat in the plush gold chairs near the wide double-doors. She stepped out, and began strolling towards the hotel bar to her right, passing by large pots with palm trees bursting out and elegant copies of Greek statues made from granite.

Sitting alone at the brightly-lit bar was a bald man in a black sports coat, trousers, and a white dress shirt with a red tie. That was her Mark- Patrick Leiberman. He was thirty-six, father of two children, divorced. He lived in Boston, and apparently was a big Boston _Red Sox _fan.

In the flesh, he wasn't bad-looking. He wasn't really attractive, but he was decent enough for her to be able to hit on him without having to resist the urge to cringe. His eyes were a shrill blue that accented his fair skin, and his nose was broad and short, but somehow it all fit.

Exhaling, she slowly strolled up to the leather stool next to him, and paused. "Um, excuse me, is this seat taken?" She asked with a subtle grin, cleverly cloaking her Spanish accent with a soft, airy American tone.

"Oh, um, no." He replied quickly, looking up from his phone.

The blatant disinterest in his tone made the corners of her lips downturn slightly as she took a seat next to him. Still, she couldn't give up simply because of the fact he seemed preoccupied. The curly-haired bartender strolled up to her, wiping down a glass mug at the same time.

"What can I get you, ma'am?" He asked.

She resting her elbows against the countertop, her gazed bounced around the room, from the empty black tables to the windows that exposed the dark parking lot filled with cars. "Um, margarita on the rocks, please."

The bartender nodded, and a few seconds later a standard cocktail glass with a lime and salt on the edge was slid in front of her. She gently gripped the glass and slipped the slender black straw between her lips. _Find something to talk about. _She thought, then noticed the _Red Sox _cover on his phone.

"You're a _Red Sox _fan?"

Patrick looked up again, blinking his red-glazed eyes rapidly as if he were fighting the urge to fall asleep. "Excuse me?"

"I noticed the cover on your phone." She explained with a smile, nodding towards his phone, which had a _Red Sox _cover on it.

"Oh- oh yeah, huge fan." He replied, lifting a small glass full of what looked like rum off the swirled marble countertop and pressing it to his lips. "I was, uh, born in Boston."

Now he seemed interested. Marisol turned slightly so she was now faced more towards him. "That's really cool. I have family from Boston, and I, um, went to a few games. I'm a fan, myself."

Patrick chuckled and shook his head cheerfully. "Finally, another fan. Can you believe half our team was on the disabled list this year?"

_Thank God I researched the Red Sox before this. _She thought, shifting in her seat as she carefully considered what to say next. If she said the wrong thing, she could end up trapped in a seemingly endless conversation about a baseball team she had only learned about three days ago. But if she said the right thing, she could end up getting him to reveal some facts about Cobol that may be crucial to her job.

"I know, it was ridiculous right?" She replied, then paused and tilted her head slightly in a look of curiosity. "I don't mean to pry, but, um, what's a guy from Boston doing all the way over here in Santa Domingo?"

Patrick leaned against the edge of the bar casually and chuckled. "Oh, no, it's fine, really. I'm on a business trip."

"Ah." She nodded and took a sip of her margarita, the icy, tangy liquid slowly trickling down her throat and sending a cold pulse into her skull. "Mind me asking who you work for?"

"Cobol Enterprises." He replied promptly with a nod. "There's, um, some people we're looking for."

Now she had him right where she wanted him. "You make yourself sound like a hit man when you say that." She joked, laughing softly.

"Do I? Well, I'm not, though I do occasionally have to whip out a gun here and there." He said, already revealing way more information than any sane person would have.

The more Marisol spoke to him, the more she realized he was trying to impress her even though he knew he was telling her too much.

"Seriously?" She widened her eyes excitedly.

"Yeah". Patrick nodded proudly, when his phone suddenly started ringing. "Um, could you excuse me for a second, I have to take this call."

"Of course." She said, watching as he pressed the phone to his ear and quickly strolled past two wide columns and into the lobby.

Then, she suddenly snapped open her mauve handbag, and pulled out a small bottle full of a white substance that looked like sugar. She pulled out the cork that kept it closed and poured all of it into his drink, watching it fizz slightly then dissolve.

Suddenly Patrick came strolling back, smiling as he shoved his phone back into his pocket. "I'm back." He grabbed his drink and took a large gulp.

"Heh, um, listen, I just realized that I have to go, but, um, why don't you give me your number?" She said, sliding off the stool and pulling a pen out of her handbag, which she positioned over her palm. "What's your name again?"

"Patrick." He replied, smiling. "And my number is 582-4791."

She nodded and scribbled the number down on her palm, then gave him a little wave and started strolling towards the lobby. Now she had to wait for him to leave the bar, then follow him until he fell asleep. The sedative would take at least seven minutes to take effect, and she knew that he would probably be heading back to his room way before then. She took a seat in a stiff gold chair and grabbed a magazine.

Just as she expected, at least five minutes later, she saw Patrick walking briskly across the lobby and towards the elevators. She placed the magazine down and strolled past the wide front desk, then stopped at the elevators. When she reached the fifth floor, she skirted around a corner and immediately saw Patrick briskly strolling down the hall.

She kept her pace slow, each footstep silent and calculated. Suddenly, he fell backwards, but she ran over just in time to catch him so that no one heard him fall and came out to investigate. He was heavy in her arms. She slipped her arms under his armpits and pushed him up, then began dragging him down the hall and to his hotel room.

Inside, a curly-haired bellhop with a slender, chinless face dotted with enflamed pimples was waiting for them. A PASIV sat on the queen-size bed.

The moment the door closed she dropped Patrick on the ground and headed to the PASIV, which she promptly pulled two needles out of and walked back towards Patrick. "Give us about fifteen minutes."

She sat against the wall, then shoved the needle into her skin.


	9. Chapter 8

1**Author's Note: **I'm back! I know I haven't updated in a while, and I'm sorry. I hope I can make up for it by making this chapter really good! Reviews appreciated! Ciao!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Inception... blegh

Ariadne was standing in a wide, dimly-lit room, facing a wall of windows that looked out over an expansive city far below her. For a second, she forgot why she was there. Then she remembered, getting a sinking feeling in her stomach, and a tingle of excitement in her muscles, at the same time. _Arthur's going to teach me self-defense. _As much as she wanted to pretend that she wasn't excited, the uncomfortable knotting feeling in her stomach reassured her that she was, in fact, very excited.

"Hopefully we shouldn't have any trouble with projections up here." Arthur's sudden voice made her jolt slightly. "Since we don't have too much time, I can only teach you a few basic techniques."

She nodded slowly, returning her gaze back to her faint reflection in the window. "Like what?"

"How to get out of a choke hold, how to get away from them if they grab you, stuff like that." Arthur replied nonchalantly, glancing down at her quickly as he toyed with his red loaded die.

Suddenly, curiosity began to rise within her. How the Hell did Arthur know all of this stuff? "How do you know all of this stuff, Arthur? Like, fighting and stuff like that?"

It was probably only a few seconds before he replied, but for some reason it felt like an eternity. In those few seconds, she was able to mull over whether or not she had asked him a question that was too personal, whether or not she had worded it right.

"I was, um, in the army for a while." He said, staring ahead blankly at the window.

That made sense. Ariadne found it surprisingly easy to picture him in army camouflage, despite his usually impeccable appearance. Now all she wondered was how he went from serving in the U.S. Army to stealing ideas.

"And how did you end up doing this?" She asked with a slight chuckle, crossing her arms.

"_That_ is a story best reserved for another time." He turned towards her, and stuck his die in his pocket. "Now, shall we get started?"

Ariadne nodded, unsure of what he would teach her first. Her skin tingled with anticipation, but she tried to ignore it.

"Okay, let's start out with something simple." Arthur said, his hands in his pockets. "Say that a Cobol agent grabs you by the wrist."

Suddenly he grabbed her wrist, his grip firm but not tight. A fluttering sensation rippled through her muscles. God, this was awkward.

"Don't try to pull away, that's not going to do you any good." He said, his gaze darting repeatedly from her wrist to her eyes. "Instead, try twisting your arm around until you can break their grip."

Tentatively at first, Ariadne began to twist her wrist around, Arthur's fingers rubbing against her pale skin. Finally, she broke his grip, and stepped back. Her heart was thudding against her ribs.

"Good, good." Arthur commented with a quick nod, glancing away rapidly before looking back at her. "Alright, now we're going to try something else. Now, this may seem a little awkward, but I have no doubt they'll do this."

She nodded as if she were perfectly fine with it, but her mind became a muddle of different ideas as to what he could mean by "awkward".

Cobb leaned against the stiff seat of the train compartment, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. Ariadne and Arthur slouched on the seat across from him, both hooked up to the PASIV. What was it about those two? Whenever they were together, Ariadne seemed to get quiet. She became a much more timid version of the inquisitive, intelligent Architect he was used to. He could only imagine how awkward it would be between those two once they had to travel together.

His gaze roved lazily towards the window, where he could see a large city outside. It was then that he realized that the train was now slowing down, and that there was what looked like a train station ahead. But they couldn't be in Madrid yet... They must be making a stop. The train suddenly entered a black tunnel, then ended up in a train bay with a domed ceiling. Dim orange lights filled the bay, illuminating the weary faces of the men and women who sat on benches, waiting for their train.

Then he noticed the group of men dressed in suits and sunglasses, not carrying any bags. There was about three of them, all standing together. As the train finally reached a stop, they began walking towards it.

His entire body tightened. It could be anyone. The odds were high that he was just jumping to conclusions, that he was still jumpy and nervous from the fact that he was on the run. But at the same time, it seemed like his worst fears had been confirmed.

Those men were from Cobol.

"I highly doubt they'd actually try to kill you, but there's always the possibility they may grab you by the neck." He said, rolling back his sleeves. "Now, I'm not going to hurt you, I'm just going to put my hands near your neck."

Her entire body seized as he gently placed his hands on her neck, his fingertips brushing lightly against her skin. She breathed in and met his gaze, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

"There are two ways to escape from something like that. You can either stick your arms in between theirs and force them apart, or you can slam against their elbows." Arthur explained, removing his hands from her neck.

At that moment, an invisible weight that had felt as if it were bearing down on her was suddenly lifted. The memory of their kiss in the Fischer Job was still replaying in her head, though. It tended to whenever she was around him... Alone. She couldn't fight the urge to wonder whether or not it ever replayed in his head when he was around her. Judging from his casual, nonchalant behavior, probably not. But even with the odds stacked against her, she still found herself noticing "little things" that he did that could possibly mean had feelings for her, and then analyzing them thoroughly for meaning.

"Since you're smaller, you might be better off hitting them in the elbows." He placed his hands on her neck once more, his thumb brushing against her clavicle momentarily. "Just bring your arms up, and slam them against your opponents elbows."

She nodded, and raised her arms up, then hit Arthur's elbows. He let go and stepped back, hands in his pockets.

"Good job," He ran his hand over his slicked-back hair and glanced around awkwardly, "I'm trying to thi-"

Suddenly, he just fell back and hit the floor. At first, Ariadne thought maybe she had just imagined it. But after blinking several times and rubbing her eyes, she realized that he had actually fallen backwards. But it didn't look like he had just fallen. It looked like he had been pushed...

"Are you okay?" She said, quickly walking towards him.

He nodded rapidly, his hand placed on the back of his head and his dark eyes narrowed in confusion. "Yeah, yeah... Did you push me?"

She shook her head. "No... But it did look like you had been pushed."

"That's what it felt like." His voice began t trail off as he looked away, then right back at her. "I think Cobb's trying to wake us up."

Cobb leaned over the PASIV and check the clock on it as it slowly counted down. They had at least ten minutes left. _Shit. _He looked back at the Architect and Point Man, trembling fingers placed on the PASIV. His attempt to awaken Arthur by shaking him hadn't seemed to work. But they needed to wake up. Unfortunately, he really had no way to administer a kick, not in the train compartment.

"What?" Ariadne asked, both eyebrows raised as if she didn't understand what he had just said.

Arthur pushed himself up. "I think he was shaking me, which is why I fell back. External factors can affect what's going on inside the dream. If someone shakes one of the dreamers, they might fall back for no apparent reason, like what happened just now."

His mind was already searching for a reason for Cobb to try and wake them up. Obviously it had to be an emergency. But what exactly was going on? His first assumption was that Cobol had caught up with them.

"Can't he improvise some sort of kick?" She said, crossing her arms.

He shook his head. "No, not in the train compartment. A kick comes from the feeling of falling, that's what snaps you out of a dream."

At the same time, though, he couldn't be completely sure that it had been Cobb. The train might have hit a bump and shaken. There could be plenty of other external stimuli that could have caused that.

"Ow." Ariadne's voice made him turn around and find the petite Architect lying on the floor, rubbing the back of her head.

"You okay?" He asked, outstretching a hand towards her.

Ariadne grabbed his hand and pressed herself up. "Yeah."

Suddenly he felt once again as if he were being pushed, and stumbled backwards, his heart convulsing rapidly as he caught his balance just in time. "Shit." He muttered under his breath, glancing quickly towards Ariadne.

"I definitely think it's Cobb." He announced with a sigh, wrapping his fingers around the handle of his handgun. "I hate doing this, but there's only one way out of this."

His eyes stayed fixated on his handgun as he pulled it out of it's holster, then moved to Ariadne, who's wide-eyed fearful expression told him that she knew exactly what she meant.

"Do we have to do it like this?" Her voice was neutral, but he had the sense that she was actually pleading for him not to shoot her.

He didn't want to shoot her. He didn't like the idea of shooting her. Normally, after being in the dream-sharing business for such a long time, he could shoot a comrade in the head or stab them in the heart without a second thought. But somehow whenever he thought about doing something like that to Ariadne, well... It almost felt like he was shooting her or stabbing her in reality. He had this odd fear that somehow by killing her in a dream her opinion of him would change, which was odd, because they hadn't known each other that long.

"I can do it for you, if that will make you feel any better." He offered with an apologetic cringe, stepping closer to her.

Ariadne inhaled slowly, then nodded, and brushed her hair back and made her way towards him. "Okay."

Part of him wondered why she seemed so scared of being shot. When he had still been new to the dream-sharing business, he had been pretty reluctant himself. But with Ariadne, it seemed like there was something else going on that was causing her fear, some hidden reason that she refused to share with the rest of the world.

"Close your eyes." He said, pressing the gun against her forehead.

He also closed his eyes. _Just do it, Arthur. Do it. _He squeezed the trigger.

There was a thunderous boom, and Ariadne collapsed to the floor, a bullet lodged in her forehead. The image was rather haunting. It sent disturbed chills through his body, but he ignored them, focusing only on what he had to do now.

Arthur now pressed the gun to his own head, and closed his eyes, the image of Ariadne lying dead still stuck in his mind.

Then he pulled the trigger.

__Short chapter, I know. I think that my chapters will be shorter from now on, but I'm not sure if updates will be faster. It's getting harder for me to write, mostly because I haven't seen Inception in a while. Also, I've got my grades to think about. Anyway, reviews are always appreciated. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I'll try to make my next update soon._


	10. Chapter 9

Author's Note:

Hello there, here is the next chapter. I'm slightly blocked, so I apologize if this chapter isn't that good. But I pray that it pleases you, and feedback is always appreciated! Also, a little note, I changed something that has to do with Eames and Marisol- I said that Eames betrayed her in an Extraction, but I was watching Inception the other day and I noticed that Eames said that he and some other people once tried to perform an Inception, but it didn't work. So I changed it to that Eames and Marisol were hired to do an Inception, which someone else found out about, and made a deal with Eames to extract some information in the process. At first, he declined, but when the job failed he decided to extract the information at the last minute.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Inception

Eames nonchalantly stepped over a pile of shattered, amber-colored glass that had once been a beer bottle, but now just littered the grimy ssidewalks of Old San Juan. Above him, stars dotted the dark sky, twinkling and glittering occasionally. He inhaled and pressed his fingertips in slow circles against the bridge of his nose, the stench of cigarette smoke and alcohol saturating the already heavy air.

Marisol had told him to meet him at the bar she had first told him about shared dreaming. The memory was still crisp in his mind, replaying on an endless loop. He could recall every sound, every sight, and every smell from that night. By then they had obtained a rare sort of friendship, a camaraderie of some sort. And while he would never admit this to her now, or anyone else... But he missed their friendship. He missed the times they would sit at some random cafe in Old San Juan, smoking and drinking as they recalled their last Extraction. He missed their private inside jokes they used to share. It really was a friendship that came once in a lifetime. But at the same time, he was suspicious of. Marisol had a somewhat of a... _Sketchy _past. He knew she had problems, problems he might even say were worse than his own problems. Marisol herself had trust issues, impulse-control issues, and all other kinds of issues. It was almost kind of sad in a way, because Marisol was one of the most talented Forgers in the dream-sharing. But she was cutthroat, ruthless, and downright vicious. He was no pyschiatrist by any means, but he knew it was some sort of result of her traumatic childhood. And his betraying her hadn't done much good either. But there was nothing he could do about it now.

He glanced up at a door that swung back and forth, revealing a dimly-lit staircase covered in grime and filth. Of course Marisol had picked the poorest part of Puerto Rico to meet at. But she had been smart to, because that was also the place they were the most concealed. He stepped inside, then began making his way up a grimy staircase illuminated only by a weak, flickering lamp. As he got closer to the second floor, he could hear low, alcohol-slurred chatter. When they used to come to that bar years ago, it was a lot more crowded than it was now. Frankly, he was shocked it was still open.

Finally, he reached the top of the stairs, and stepped through the door into the room. It was a somewhat wide room, with a bar across from him and a balcony that overlooked the dark alley below. People sat at tables placed randomly across the room, some of them alone with only their beers to keep them company, others chattering happily. He spotted Marisol with her back turned to him, leaning over the bar.

"Evening." He said with a grin as he walked up to her.

Marisol tossed her head back and took a swig of her beer, a few golden drops dribbling down her chin. "Eames, we don't have much time, so listen carefully."

He nodded, a little disappointed by the fact that for once she didn't make some sarcastic comment.

"Alright, Cobol is mad at two of the men you work with, Dominic and Arthur. They're angry because they hired them to extract some information from man named Saito, who's in charge of the company Proclus Enterprises." She said in a low voice, her lips barely moving and her eyes staring forward blankly. "But they're also angry at the rest of you, because they had a joint venture with the company Fischer Enterprises, and they lost a lot of money because Robert Fischer decided to dissolve the empire. For some reason, they think you all are behind it."

Now he understood. It made so much sense now, why Cobol was so adamant to get all of them, rather than just Cobb and Arthur. "You're sure about this?"

"Yes." She replied with a nod, visibly biting the insides of her cheeks. "Where's the money?"

Eames reached into the pocket of his trousers, and pulled out a stiff wad of dollars rolled together and held together by a rubber band. "Right here."

Marisol quickly snatched the money out of his hands, stuffing it in the pocket of her jeans. She was glancing around nervously, something he rarely saw her do. And when Marisol was nervous, it usually meant she was hiding something.

"Well, I will be off." He concluded, stepping away from the bar, when he felt Marisol grab him by the arm.

"Wait, there's something else." She said quietly, motioning for him to come closer.

Eames leaned in, resting his elbows on the surface of the bar. His right forearm managed to touch a puddle of beer, but he didn't bother to pull it away. "What?"

"Cobol's going to be here in about a minute."

At first, Eames wasn't sure if he heard her right. "Wait, what?"

"I said Cobol's going to be here in a minute." She repeated, staring blankly forward. "Do you think you can jump from that balcony?"

His gaze slowly moved towards the balcony at their right, analyzing it's every detail meticulously. The building was two stories high, possibly just low enough for him to jump without breaking anything, if he landed right. But still, he was pretty sure there was nothing for him to land on except hard concrete.

"Maybe." He replied, glancing nervously towards the door, expecting at any moment to see a horde of Cobol Agents bursting through.

Marisol took another swig of her beer. "Well, you're going to have to, because I'm betting that they're gonna come through the front door."

Eames nodded, all the possible ways for him to jump without killing himself or at least breaking anything flashing through his mind. "Why don't I just go now?"

"Because there's still one more thing I have to tell you." She murmured quickly, looking warily over her shoulder. "Two of the people you work with- A college student, and a point man, I think. They've purchased plane tickets to America. Some agents are waiting for them there. You need to warn them."

He opened his mouth to say something, when all of a sudden he heard a commotion coming from the stairs, followed by a cacophonous jumble of footsteps and yells that resonated through the air.

"Go!" She said, shoving him towards the balcony, then to his surprise running towards the balcony and climbing onto the railing.

"Wait, why are you running?" He asked, clenching his hands around the railing in preparation to throw himself over the railing.

But before he could get a reply, Marisol had already jumped down and landed into the alley. Her feet seemed to hit the ground first, then she bent her knees and rolled, tucking her head down in the process. _I'll try doing that. _He told himself, climbing onto the railing. Not giving himself any time to ponder his decision, he jumped down, his feet slamming against the ground and sending a stiffening shock travelling up his legs and all the way to his shoulders. Pain followed afterwards, a sort of burning, pulsing pain that emanated from the centers of his bones. He clenched his teeth, wobbling as he pushed himself up. His legs throbbed, but he forced himself to start running through the alley, hearing the shouts of Cobol's agents not far behind him.

* * *

_Yay! I finally updated! Sorry about the long wait, I've been really busy with Christmas, Yule, writing my other fanfic, writing my stories that aren't fanfics, all that kind of stuff. But I'm back! I'm sorry this chapter was so short, I just wanted to get it out there so people would know I haven't abandoned this story. Also, in case you were wondering where I got Proclus Enterprises from this comic that comes with the Inception DVD, it's a prequel to Inception. Turns out that is actually the name of Mr. Saito's business. Anyway, I'll be off now. Read, review, repeat :P_


	11. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: **Okay, here's the next chapter. I just want to remind people that A/A is a _sub_-plot, it is not _the _plot. Don't worry, there'll still be a lot of it

**Disclaimer: **I still don't own Inception

* * *

"Stay close to me." Arthur said under his breath, glancing back at Ariadne as they wove fluidly through the bustling throng of people that filled the sun-bathed streets of Seville.

The petite Architect nodded, quickly pushing a wavy strand of hair behind her ear. "What's the plan now?"

"I don't know." He said with a sigh, his hand now gently hovering above the small of her back.

* * *

Cobb rushed through the narrow streets of Seville, glancing back brusquely to see if he was still being chased by Cobol. He panted heavily, each gasp of air feeling like fire spilling into his throat. With each gasp, he began to choke. Thin, sweat-coated strands of blonde hair dangled and bounced in front of his eyes vigorously. He could only pray that Arthur and Ariadne had managed to evade Cobol, unlike him. The three of them had gotten off of the train, just in time, and then they split up. Ariadne, of course, was with Arthur. He wouldn't dare condemn the girl to being on her own with Cobol after her. God knows what they would do to her if they got a hold of her.

"There he is!" The all-too-familiar voice of a man rippled through air, making him turn back to see a small group of men in suits and sunglasses chasing after him.

A jolt surged through his muscles, and his feet began to move even faster as he speed through the uphill streets.

* * *

"Ariadne, I need you to listen to me very carefully, alright?" Arthur said to Ariadne, gripping her by her elbows and constantly looking towards the end of the empty alley for Cobol agents.

Ariadne nodded quickly, the skin of her cheeks flaring red from exhaustion. Glistening globules of sweat rolled down her face.

"Okay. If I tell you to run, you need to run, okay? If I tell you we need to split up, we have to split up." He told her, his mind quickly snapping into soldier mode.

Emotion was draining out of him, replaced by pure instinct and initiative. His goal right now was to get himself and Ariadne away from Cobol. Apparently they hadn't managed to evade Cobol, because they had just been chased by one of Cobol's agents. There was still some emotion left in him, a sort of sense of sympathy for Ariadne. He could see it plain and clear, that as strong as she was trying to be, she was crumbling. She wasn't fit for something like this. He was shocked she hadn't yet had a nervous breakdown. But she was definitely on the verge of one.

"B-b-but, how will I find you?" She said, looking around wildly.

Arthur shook his head, grabbing her by her upper arm and starting down the alley quickly. "I said if. And if we do split up, I'll be following you from a distance, okay?"

* * *

Cobb jabbed a blonde Cobol agent in the mouth with his elbow, then promptly pushed himself up clumsily and started running towards the end of the alleyway, only to be tackled by an older Cobol agent. The two men rolled across the rough stone ground, until they hit a brick wall. Immediately, Cobb's entire body stiffened from the impact, at first everything numb. Then, he felt a dull vibrating sensation in the back of his head, where he had been hit. At first, it wasn't so bad. It was just a simple vibrating feeling. But then it bloomed into an intense shaking feeling, and the entire earth began to sway beneath him. There was an intense pounding in his skull. His vision began to blur, the outlines of buildings and Cobol's agents becoming fuzzy. There was a heaviness in his body, like someone had tied sandbags to it.

He rolled across the ground. The hard stones pressed into his back and sent pain rocketing through his bones. Suddenly, he was engulfed in a thick, murky darkness. Something bristly and coarse rubbed against his face, and he felt something tighten around his neck.

Shit, they had a bag over his head!

* * *

"Run!" Arthur said sharply, pushing Ariadne forward.

Ariadne stumbled through the crowded streets, turning her head to see who was behind them. But before she could, she felt his grip tighten around her elbow and jerk her towards him.

"Don't look back." He said breathlessly, pulling her as they sped through the streets.

* * *

They dragged him by his arms. Where, he didn't know. After they had gotten the bag on his head, he felt the hot sting of a needle going into his skin. He would have thought they were putting him under, but he felt it in his neck, rather than in his elbow. Once they did inject whatever it was into him, he felt his whole body go limp. He himself was walking a thin line between consciousness and unconsciousness. Inside his skull, everything felt heavy and fuzzy. When he tried to focus on something, he felt it slip away from him a second later. He would have been frustrated but everything was too hazy for him to be frustrated.

_Arthur_. The face of the Point Man flashed through his mind, but it was blurred and practically indistinguishable. Barely even a second later, he forgot it.

Suddenly, he felt himself being lifted up, then dropped mercilessly on a cold, hard surface.

* * *

Ariadne had been running so much she could feel vomit rising in her scorched throat. Hell, it felt like her whole stomach was being shoved up her throat. Salty water that was so hot it felt like it was boiling filled up her eyes and turned her vision into warped, liquefied colors. Her muscles were on fire, loose and limp to the point where she wobbled with each step. Her scorched lungs pressed against her tight ribcage. Everything was a blur. She was torn between listening to her body, which was pleading, begging, screaming for her to stop, and listening to Arthur, who was pulling her forward and urging her to run faster.

She knew that if she didn't run faster she would inevitably be captured, tortured, and possibly killed. She had once read a list full of torture methods. They were all terrifying, but the worst were the ones that tortured you psychologically. Solitary confinement, mock executions. They sent chills through her spine. The thought sent a burst of strength through her legs, and she began running faster.

* * *

Cobb felt the bag being lifted off of his head, and in an instant his whole vision was engulfed by sheer, blinding, white light. It was like someone was shoving white-hot needles straight into his eyes. He turned his head away and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, then tried to raise his hand to his eyes when he realized they were tied behind him.

He was sitting, in a chair, obviously. Something large and thick bound his ankles to the legs of the chair and also wrapped around his hands. He felt something in his mouth, a cloth, wrapped around his head and stuck in between his teeth to prevent him from speaking. Panic shot through him. They had captured him. They had captured him, and now they had him bound and gagged. His whole body was heavy with defeat. Memories of his children flashed through his mind, each of them tender to him like a fresh bruise, and the more he wallowed in those memories, the more he got a sick, tightening feeling in his chest. He would never see him children again. He had seen them for a brief period of time, but that was it. So this was how it would end for him. Bound, gagged, all because of his own idiocy. All because of his own greed. Not greed for money or power, but greed for the intoxication of dreaming.

* * *

Ariadne stumbled into yet another alley, unable to stop herself from falling. She slammed into the wet, stone ground, barely able to prevent her head from banging against the ground by holding her hands out at the last minute. Even though her head was okay, the impact still sent a thud throughout her entire body. By now, her limbs were limp and lifeless like spaghetti, and her muscles quivered like jell-o. Her lungs felt like someone had literally reached into her chest and squeezed them as tightly as they could with their bare hands. It was like fire ants had engulfed her feet. She wanted to rip off her shoes and dunk her feet in ice water. Then, a warm, putrid taste began to rise in her throat. Pressing her hand against her throat, she coughed, trying to rid herself of the congested feeling in her throat. But no matter how much she coughed, how much she gagged, she couldn't get rid of whatever was sitting in her throat.

Her stomach suddenly seemed to heave forward, and without warning, she vomited.

* * *

"At last, we have the cunning Dom Cobb before us, in the flesh!" A voice that was like nails grating against a chalkboard declared sardonically, followed by a wave of laughter. "You're an elusive bastard, aren't you?"

Cobb looked around the small room. Several men in suits stood before him, for once their eyes not shaded by sunglasses. There was a small table next to him, with a lamp shining bright above his head. Inside his skull was a heavy throb that echoed through his head. There were also some more throbs, these ones in his temples, nose, and forehead. The pressure was so intense, he could have sworn someone had a strip of metal wrapped tightly around his head.

* * *

"Are you okay?" Arthur said to her in between breathless pants, pulling her up gently by her arm.

Ariadne nodded, wiping the back of her hand against her mouth. Tears were rolling down her face, tears from the sheer humiliation she felt. She was weak. She couldn't handle this. A putrid taste filled her mouth, making her gag and cough hysterically in an effort to rid herself of it. As Arthur guided her through the maze of empty alleyways, she couldn't bring herself to look at him. Never in her life had she felt so stupid. There they were, being pursued by ruthless men, and yet she was crying because she had vomited.

"Ariadne, listen to me." Arthur said suddenly, guiding her to a spot next to a large dumpster. "Are you sure you're okay?"

She nodded quickly. A strong breeze of wind rolled through the area, sending soaking wet papers flying through the air like leaves in fall. A heavy, rancid stench permeated the air. Ariadne couldn't decide whether or not to hold her breath or keep on gasping. She needed air desperately, after such a brutal session of running. But every time she breathed in, she coughed as the stench filled her nostrils. It sent more vomit rising up her throat, and she was shocked she hadn't yet puked once more.

"I'm sorry if I scared you or if I seemed angry, but you have to realize that these people will kill you if they have to." Arthur said, pressing her against the wall.

Ariadne nodded, looking up. The sky was a clear, unbroken blue. For a moment, staring at it made her feel somewhat... Free. It made her forget that she was in danger. As her gaze ventured back down, caught sight of a man standing a few feet behind Arthur, gun pointed at the back of his head.

"Look ou-" She screamed, but was cut off by the sound of gunfire.

* * *

_Yay! I finally updated, hahaha. In the past few weeks, I've been feeling kind bleh when it comes to my writing, but this chapter I actually really enjoyed. I think I'm starting to get my mojo back :D. Anyway, for those of you who are also reading my other story, Affliction, don't worry, I haven't given up on that one either, I've just been a little blocked. But luckily I'm feeling a bit more inspired now, so hopefully I should have the next chapter up soon. I'm also working on two other stories on a different website, these ones aren't fanfics, and I plan on sending both of them to a publisher (btw, I can give you guys the names and the website if you want to read them, I'm always looking for constructive criticism), so I have to work really hard on them. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, the next one should hopefully be up soon. Reviews, as always, are more than appreciated. Happy New Year's!_


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